


Lost Things

by needchocolatenow



Category: Gintama
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24510805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/needchocolatenow/pseuds/needchocolatenow
Summary: Childhood!AU. Toshirou and Gintoki meet amid corpses on a battlefield.
Relationships: Hijikata Toshirou/Sakata Gintoki
Comments: 53
Kudos: 215





	1. 夏 (summer)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my beta, cheerleader, rubber duck, all around amazing person citsiurtlanu.

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>  **夏 (SUMMER)**

Toshirou could hardly feel his feet, but he knew they ached, that they were swollen and sore and blackened by bruises and dirt. The bottoms of his only pair of shoes were worn thin from the countless days he had been walking. At his side, the flask of water he had taken off a corpse sloshed with every step. 

High above, the summer skies changed from a merciless blue to a fiery scarlet, bleeding the rest of the colors from the world, and still Toshirou put one foot in front of the other, continuing onwards. He felt like a ghost.

As the sun began to set behind the hills, Toshirou stepped onto the edge of a battlefield. Bodies were strewn as far as the eye could see and the stench of decay was heavy in the air, causing him to gag as he got closer. Rats chittered away in mocking screeches and the flies that swarmed buzzed even louder. 

For the first time in a while, his stomach stopped groaning in complaint. 

Toshirou stared at the first body he came across, a man who was so bloated and grey that he hardly looked anything that resembled a human. His armor had been stripped from him, his pockets emptied out. A chipped and bloodied tantou with a smudged house crest was clutched in his distended fingers. There was no way looters hadn’t tried to pry it from his grip, meaning that even in death, this man refused to let it go. 

A samurai to the bitter end.

Toshirou turned away and moved on, doing a cursory search of each corpse in his path for anything—water, food, _anything_. 

There was the sound of footsteps.

Toshirou looked up from the body he was inspecting—a young man, probably, dressed like a page. The maggots had eaten his eyes and turned his insides soft, but he had been hidden beneath another corpse and that meant no looter had gotten to him yet. There was little yield in this discovery, however. 

“Oi.”

A messy-haired boy stood not too far from Toshirou. He looked to be the same age and was clutching a grime-covered wakizashi in his hands. In the fading light of the setting sun, the boy’s eyes were a frightening red. 

He was looking Toshirou over. “You won’t find anything here,” he said. “Anything of value has already been taken.” 

Toshirou could see that for himself and yet, hearing those words killed the little ball of hope that sat in his chest. Emotions that he had pushed down for so long threatened to come up as bile.

“Then what?” Toshirou bit out, his throat sore and voice rough from disuse. His lungs rattled with every word. “I won’t die here. I won’t.”

The boy sized him up, as if ascertaining his worth dead or alive, and tucked the wakizashi he held to the side. Something in his expression softened, if only by a fraction. He walked over and seized Toshirou’s hand in a clammy, but firm grip before starting to pull him away. 

Toshirou was so shocked that he followed along for several steps before he found his voice again. “What are you doing?”

“You look like you’re two steps from falling over.” The boy looked over his shoulder at Toshirou, his eyes narrowing. “Besides, you don’t want to be out here at night. Weren’t you telling me you didn’t want to die?”

Toshirou fell silent, unable to deny the truth of the boy’s words. 

“What’s your name?” The boy had led them out of the battlefield and along the banks of an old, dried riverbed, sparsely bracketed by barren trees. Overgrown weeds and grass, pale and crisp from hours underneath a harsh summer sun, crunched underneath their feet. “I’m Sakata Gintoki.” 

Toshirou stared at their linked hands, wondering what to say for a moment. 

He was a bastard child, born from an affair, and no matter what his mother used to say, the man that fathered him didn’t want him. He belonged to no family but his mother’s and his mother had no other kin and now, he was simply Toshirou, with no mother or family that cared. 

Well, there was one, but his brother was better off without him. 

“I’m Toshirou,” he said.

“What a weird name for a girl,” Gintoki responded. 

“I’m not a girl.” Toshirou scowled at the back of Gintoki’s unruly head of hair. 

“Oh.” Gintoki didn’t let go of his hand and instead, gave it a squeeze. “Your hair’s really long and you’re pretty like one, so. Sorry.” He didn’t sound particularly apologetic. “Come on, we have to hurry a bit, it’s getting really dark.”

He picked up the pace, dragging Toshirou along. At first it wasn’t obvious where they were going, but then he saw where Gintoki was making a beeline for. There was a small building in the distance, attached to an old and derelict water wheel. The hut looked in a great state of disrepair and not any sort of place people could stay, but it was better than being out in the open. 

When they arrived, Gintoki opened the sliding door and ushered Toshirou in. It was dark inside, the only source of light from the opened door and a small, slanted window near the roof of the house. The air was still warm from the day and when Toshirou all but collapsed on the wooden floors, he could hear them creaking dangerously. 

“We can’t light a fire,” Gintoki said. 

Fire attracted the wrong sort of attention in these parts. Night raiders wouldn’t hesitate to butcher two young boys in the middle of nowhere. Toshirou said as much, but from the way Gintoki turned away, he wasn’t sure if he was heard. His voice sounded oddly garbled and far away. 

“Oi, you can’t just lay there.” 

Toshirou stared at Gintoki and tried to get up from his prone position, but his body—finally, after unknown days, weeks—stopped listening. He fell back, all strength gone from his limbs, his head hitting painfully against the wood, making him see spots. 

Toshirou couldn’t even lift his head again. 

“I thought you said you weren’t going to die.”

He wasn’t going to die, he only needed some rest. 

Toshirou closed his eyes. He was so dizzy. 

* * *

He blinked slowly to wakefulness. It was bright, almost overly so. Sunlight spilled in from the window in a slant, bringing with it the heat. 

He was sweating and parched and he reached for his water flask only to find that it was gone from his side. Toshirou rolled over, blearily looking around the tiny room and found it leaning against the wall next to his head. He grabbed it, surprised to find it filled and drank, savoring the coolness against his throat. He made sure to conserve some for later.

Gintoki was nowhere to be seen, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t nearby, Toshirou reasoned. The wakizashi Gintoki had been carrying was on the floor next to a small cloth bag. On top of it, were two dried pieces of crackers. 

Was that for him, Toshirou wondered, and before he knew what was happening, he had crawled over and shovelled down both pieces. Not a crumb was left behind. 

The door slid open with a clatter and Gintoki appeared as if summoned. He blinked, his red eyes sharpening in intensity the moment they landed on Toshirou. In the daylight, his hair was the strangest shade of grey—almost silver, and it puffed up into half-curls at the ends, making it seem like a heavy cloud hung around his head. 

“You’re not dead.” He glanced at Toshirou’s hunched position over the empty cloth bag. “Ah, you ate my food. I was saving that.” 

Toshirou wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, though there were no remnants of crackers there, having eaten each piece whole. “You left them out,” he snapped. “How was I supposed to know?” 

Gintoki took a seat next to him and if he was irritated, Toshirou didn’t know him well enough to care. 

“You’ll have to pay me back,” said Gintoki, “with interest. For that and for the water and for the fact that I had to take care of you for the past two days.” 

“Two days?” Toshirou couldn’t believe his ears; he couldn’t have been asleep so long. Yet, his feet had stopped aching entirely and the strange rattle in his chest seemed to have disappeared. His throat, though still sore, didn’t have the same scratched-up feeling to it.

“You had a fever,” Gintoki said and as if trying to prove a point, he pushed their foreheads together. “Oh, you’re normal again.” 

Toshirou’s entire body tensed at the contact before realizing all Gintoki was doing was gauging his temperature. Then, out of instinct, he elbowed Gintoki in the gut. 

* * *

He wasn’t sure how, but it became abundantly clear as the days became weeks that Gintoki wasn’t going to leave him alone. When Toshirou had woken up on the third day after a solid night’s rest, Gintoki had grabbed his meager belongings, took Toshirou’s hand, and dragged them both out of the rundown hut. 

“We have to go,” was all Gintoki said on the matter, and Toshirou hadn’t argued. 

There was no food, they’d used up the last of the water Gintoki had found, and there was nothing around them to scavenge, the summer sun having devoured what the animals hadn't. 

Last year, when it was this hot, Toshirou had gone to the village with his mother. There was a newly-installed vending machine at the corner next to the general store and it was the first that Toshirou had ever seen; Amanto and their technology were viewed as distrustful at best and traitorous at worst. His mother didn’t have much money, but saw what he was looking at and gave him a silver coin from her purse, letting him choose whatever he wanted from the machine. He had selected purely based on looks—a milky-white bottle with a red cap. 

That day had been a good day, one of the last good ones Toshirou remembered having. 

He had been alone for so long that now that he had a traveling companion, it felt almost strange. There were no more silences that stretched into forever or just his own shadow walking beside him. Gintoki liked to talk and usually about something ridiculous (“I’ve heard the legends of a mystical mushroom where if you capture it, it’ll take you to its kingdom and give you all the food you want,” he had said, to which Toshiro replied: “There’s no such thing, you liar”) and the conversations they had usually ended in nonsensical bickering. 

Gintoki had a keen sense of his surroundings, Toshirou came to understand, and he had been wandering for far longer. 

“How old are you?” Toshirou asked one day. Gintoki was leading the way up a mountain, verdant and lush despite the dry summer. The path, if it could be called one, was overgrown with weeds and hidden from view. 

“Don’t know.” Gintoki turned to look at him and started picking his nose. “Does it matter?”

“Not really.” Toshirou wrinkled his nose at Gintoki’s antics. “Stop it, that’s gross.” 

“You’re not my mother.” Gintoki was grinning as he held out his hand. “Hey, come here!” 

Having already been subjected to the same scenario countless times, Toshirou deftly dodged away and raced ahead on the path. Gintoki was not going to wipe his finger on him today—or ever again, if he had the choice. 

It was a strange decision to come up the mountain, but Toshirou hadn’t questioned it. It seemed like Gintoki had a path and Toshirou went along with it; he didn’t have a destination in mind since after all, he had nowhere to go. 

The deeper they went, the less the sun penetrated the leaves above, the light growing muted though the heat of summer remained. Even the air was still in places, lending the mountain an almost eerie quality to it. Without Gintoki’s laughter, Toshirou would have fled the first chance he got. There was something unsettling about the forest here. 

“Wait, don’t!” 

Toshirou paused to stare skeptically back. 

“What?” 

Gintoki wasn’t looking at him, but at the forest floor, at the murky, leaf-ridden path in front of them. “Doesn’t look right,” he mumbled after a moment. He waved a hand, lost for words, unable to explain. 

Toshirou tried to see what Gintoki was worried about, but he couldn’t. There were mounds of old dead leaves piled around the base of some trees, but they didn’t seem all that strange to him. Everything was dusty and the sharp scent of flora was all that Toshirou smelled. If anything, maybe where they had been heading to seemed unusually dark, but there were more trees around, which wasn’t odd at all. 

Which made it all the more strange and unsettling.

“Let’s not go that way,” said Gintoki. He had grabbed Toshirou’s hand. “Let’s go around.” 

“Fine,” conceded Toshirou, though he hadn’t had any objections to begin with. He hoped he didn’t sound too quick on the agreement. 

“We’ll go this way.” 

Toshirou went right and Gintoki went left and it was only their joined hands that stopped Toshirou from leaving the annoying nuisance with the red eyes and silver hair behind.

* * *

They found a stream, or more accurately, Gintoki found a stream. Purely by luck, Toshirou thought; nonetheless, he was glad for it. He drank as much as he wanted from the cool, clear waters and refilled his flask. 

He splashed some on his face just because he could. 

“There’s a temple around here,” said Gintoki with barely contained excitement—it was the first time since coming all this way that Toshirou realized that Gintoki actually did know where he was going. They weren’t wandering out in the wilderness for no reason. “I stayed with the monks there a while ago. They have food and water and there’s this huge mikan tree out by the gates!”

Gintoki had waded out deeper into the stream without shame, having thrown off all his tattered clothing on top of a large, jutting rock. 

“Look, there’s fish!” 

Toshirou could see them even by the banks; tiny black shapes in the water that darted around Gintoki’s legs. 

“Bet you can’t catch one!” 

Gintoki splashed water at Toshirou’s direction, though none of it quite reached him. Gintoki’s grin was the happiest he’d ever seen. “I’d like to see you try and get one!” 

There was no one around to steal their meager belongings, he reasoned, plus it was hot and the stream was cool. There was nothing to prevent him from joining Gintoki so he shucked off his own clothes, throwing them onto the banks, and waded in. 

They must have spent an hour there at least, scrubbing off the layers of dirt and grime and then playing in the water. It was long enough for Toshirou’s toes to become wrinkled and pruned, and then after waddling out, the two of them laid on a spot of grass to dry off. The day was so warm and it felt so nice to simply lay there, listening half-heartedly to Gintoki’s incessant chatter, that Toshirou let the drowsiness seep into him, his breath slowing and his limbs growing heavy. 

“Oi, don’t sleep!” 

A hand patted him on the cheek, the palm sweaty and sticky despite the fact that they had just been playing around in the water. 

“Come on,” Gintoki wheedled and this time, pinched both of Toshirou’s cheeks. 

“That hurt, you idiot!” He shot up from his prone position to clobber Gintoki in the head. “If you’re going to do that, we can keep going!” 

Gintoki grinned despite the fact that he now had a lump growing from where Toshirou had punched him. 

“Yeah, the sooner we get there, the sooner we can eat!” 

Toshirou rolled his eyes as he got dressed, pulling his frayed, dirty yukata over his shoulders and retying his hair with his mother’s old ribbon. Gintoki threw his things on haphazardly, not bothering at all to rearrange or smooth out any of the wrinkles. 

“Did you know your cheeks are like mochi?” As if to emphasize his point, Gintoki pressed his hands against Toshirou’s face and squished his cheeks. He laughed at the expression Toshirou made and quickly danced away before he was hit again. 

“I’m going to end you!” Toshirou could feel the blush rising from his neck, shooting upwards to the top of his head. Everything suddenly felt like it was burning and Toshirou couldn’t stop it from flooding his senses. 

Gintoki was still smiling as he led the way from the stream, back into the forest, always a step ahead of Toshirou and out of strangling reach. “I can’t believe you sometimes,” Toshirou muttered, following along. 

It didn’t take much more walking to find the temple that Gintoki was extolling about. Aside from being surrounded on all sides by a large wooden fence, the building itself was nondescript. There were leaf-covered stairs that led to the main gates and the courtyard was deserted. It wasn’t even that big of a compound. Toshirou was certain that he’d seen houses bigger than this temple. 

“Oi!” Gintoki yelled as he crossed the threshold. “Crappy monks, it’s me! I’m back!” 

Silence answered him. Undeterred, Gintoki ran into the building, hollering at the top of his lungs.

Toshirou stood in the courtyard, staring. Something about this place was too... still. He didn’t like it. 

He shook his head, as if trying to shake away the ominous feeling that had settled over his spine, and walked in the opposite direction that Gintoki went. He could still hear the other boy’s muffled yelling as he stepped towards the back of the temple’s grounds. 

Exactly like Gintoki said, there was a massive mikan tree that stood next to the perimeter of the fence, full and heavy of the little oranges, bowing the branches underneath their combined weight. Toshirou’s mouth watered just looking at the fruit, ripe for the picking. 

He reached up and touched the closest one to him, finding it real and solid. His fingers felt around the little bumps on the skin and he remembered abruptly that this was his mother’s favorite fruit. Toshirou pushed the memories aside, biting down on his bottom lip and swallowing.

Surely, he thought, the monks wouldn’t mind if he took one or two. There were so many, after all. 

He had only pocketed one when a shuffling sound caught his attention. He turned around, expecting to be scolded by a monk for taking something without asking, but instead was met by a tall, battle-scarred man with a broken nose. He wasn't wearing much, and what little he had on was essentially rags. In his hand was a sickle, which he no doubt was going to bury into Toshirou’s back. 

The man’s eyes widened. “A girl,” he breathed, lowering the sickle. 

From the bowels of the temple, there was only silence. 

A crashing roar flared up in Toshirou’s ears, crescendoing with every thump of his heart. How long had it been so quiet? How could he not notice? Why did he separate himself from Gintoki? 

The loud discordance within contrasted the silence surrounding him and when he inhaled, it was to feel a heaviness settling over his chest. 

He didn’t know when he moved or even how he moved, only that he did, and when he returned to himself, body shaking and breathing labored, it was to find the man dead at his feet, blood gurgling noisily out of his throat. Toshirou lifted the sickle and drove it down again and again, carving up the man until it was nothing but a lump of meat. 

First his mother. Now Gintoki. Both gone in the most gruesome fashion, in ways that they didn’t deserve to go. 

“Toshirou! Oi!” 

A sword caught the curve of the sickle and a twist had it wrenched from his grasp, forcing him to drop it to the ground.

Red eyes met his and for a dizzying moment, Toshirou thought that he was the one that was dead, that the Gintoki that stood before him was a ghost. 

But no, Gintoki was solid. He had picked up the sickle and tossed it over the gate, out of sight. He barely glanced at the sliced-up remains next to him before approaching Toshirou, expression thunderous.

“Did he hurt you?” Gintoki asked, sheathing the wakizashi in one smooth, practiced motion. 

Did he—did Gintoki just ask that? How could he ask that, when Toshirou’s heart had nearly shattered itself again, when all he could see was the corpse of his newfound friend overlaid on the image of his mother, lying prone and cold and dead on her futon with her murderer standing over her. 

Toshirou took a step towards Gintoki, his mouth opening. There was so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted—

His mouth wasn’t working and neither were his eyes, everything was so blurry. 

Gintoki took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’m okay,” he said. “I didn’t run into him inside the temple. He didn’t hurt me.”

Toshirou took huge gulps of air, his lungs burning for no reason, and finally managed to eke some words out of his uncooperative mouth: “You idiot! I thought you died!” 

His free arm shot out and grabbed Gintoki by the hem of his yukata to pull him close and then, Toshirou was crying. Huge, wracking sobs shook his body and Gintoki stood sturdy and strong, one hand holding on tight to Toshirou’s and the other gently petting his hair.

* * *

Eventually, Toshirou calmed enough to be led into the temple. It was empty, with no monks or even any other person in sight. He couldn’t stop thinking that a stranger would pop out around every corner with a weapon in hand, though he said nothing about this out loud.

“We can stay here for the night,” said Gintoki. “And then we can leave in the morning.”

“You don’t want to stay?” Toshirou asked. He couldn’t bring himself to let go of Gintoki’s hand yet. 

“The monks aren’t here anymore. Plus, this place got ransacked pretty good, there’s almost nothing left.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay, we can always go anywhere we want. You know, we can... we can go to the ocean! I can’t swim, but that’s fine. We can go catch lots of fish and maybe I can go find work and be a guard somewhere. On a ship even! Maybe we can be pirates. We should go tomorrow! Hey, sit here for a bit. I’ll be right back.” 

Gintoki led him in a room that faced the front courtyard. It was barren, and the only thing that held any clue it had been lived in was a short table that was obviously too large and burdensome an item for scavengers or looters to take away. This was probably a common room at one point, where the monks gathered and ate their meals.

“Don’t move, okay?” Gintoki shot him a worried glance before disentangling their hands and shooting off out of sight the moment he was free. His feet thudded on the wooden floors, disappearing somewhere into the building, the sliding screen doors left wide open.

Toshirou closed his eyes and set his head on the table. All his limbs felt infinitely more heavy and cumbersome and bile swirled at the back of his throat. He focused on listening to the faint noises of Gintoki plodding about and in between one moment and the next, he must have fallen asleep. 

When he opened his eyes, it was to the reddest sunset he’d ever seen. 

“Are you awake?” 

Toshirou looked over at Gintoki, who was in the middle of shoving a slice of mikan into his mouth. Around him was a large pile of discarded orange peels from the fruit. 

“I didn’t want to wake you,” said Gintoki around a mouthful. “Thought you could use the sleep.” 

Toshirou stared at the growing pile of peels that surrounded Gintoki, and then at the considerably smaller pile of mikan that was on the table, a dawning horror creeping up on him. 

“You did not just eat them all!” Toshirou wailed. “I haven’t had one yet! If you were going to eat, you could have woken me up!” 

“Early bird gets the worm,” Gintoki said unapologetically as he began to peel another mikan with his fingers. The skin fell away easily to reveal the fleshy orange bits within and he dug in with a relish despite the fact that he must have had dozens by the look of it. 

Toshirou was on his feet and halfway down the hall, intent on grabbing a few of the fruit for himself because there’s no way Gintoki could have emptied a whole tree—

It was as if an invisible wall was blocking him from moving further around the corner. The tree was out of sight, further still inward on the property. The red of the skies looked so much like blood. He didn’t want to see the corpse.

A hand on his brought him out of his stupor.

“Just... sit down, okay?” Gintoki pulled him back into the room, where he placed a wet cloth and a mikan in front of him. “Here. You're still all bloody from earlier, at least clean that first before you start eating.”

He took the cloth and mechanically cleaned himself, noting that his yukata was a lost cause. He did his best to get the blood off his fingers and his face and whatever traces were left on his feet. The cloth he was cleaning with was quickly dirtied. 

Toshirou wasn’t hungry anymore after, but he picked up the fruit regardless, rolling it in his palm. He tried not to think of how dead a man could be in moments and instead, brought up memories of his mother. How she used to peel the mikan for him even when he insisted that he was old enough to do it himself. 

“If you want more, I’ll go and get some,” said Gintoki, eyes having never left him. “I didn’t take all of them. You should hurry up and eat before all the light goes away.” 

Toshirou nodded, going through the motions of peeling open the skin and then separating out the wedges meticulously, lining them up before him like a row of funny-shaped dominos. He picked one up, brought it to his lips, and immediately ran from the room and out to the courtyard where he vomited the contents of his already empty stomach. 

His throat burned and his eyes watered. 

“I’m gonna eat them if you’re not.” Gintoki came up behind him, already speaking around another mouthful of fruit. “It’d be a shame to waste it. Here, rinse.” He held out a small chipped cup with water. “This is all I’m giving you for now; if we run out at night and I have to go get water in the dark, I’ll trip and really die. Then I’ll come back and haunt you for the rest of your life.” 

Toshirou took the water, gargled, and rinsed, handing the cup back to Gintoki when he was done. His ears burned in humiliation, though Gintoki didn’t comment on it. 

“I don’t remember the first time I killed someone.” 

The admission didn’t take Toshirou by surprise, but the fact Gintoki was talking about it freely did. He knew the blade that Gintoki carried wasn’t for show, but they hadn't ran into any situation where he had to use it seriously yet. 

“A lot of the time, it was either kill or be killed. I’m... glad that you killed him first,” Gintoki trailed off. 

He was trying to make Toshirou feel better, Toshirou realized, except it was awkward and hardly made him feel better at all. 

“That’s not it,” said Toshirou, standing up to go back inside. He took a seat at the table and saw that in the short time he’d vacated the spot, Gintoki did snatch up all the pieces of mikan and had devoured them. He couldn’t feel angry; he knew all too well the feeling of gnawing, endless hunger. 

The sunlight had faded, the twilight having crept in silently and quick. Here, deep in the forest, the summer heat drained away like water in a sieve, chased out by the approaching darkness. 

“I’m not scared of killing someone, I just thought he killed you.” The words tumbled out of him, an admission that hurt to vocalize. 

At first, there was only silence. Then Gintoki laughed. “As if I’d die that easily!” As dark as it was, he managed to grab Toshirou’s hand with his own, still sticky with fruit juice all over it. “I found you, right? And I took you. So I’m not going to leave you alone like that. You’re stuck with me.” 

“I’m not something you looted,” Toshirou protested, but it might as well be the truth. He was something that Gintoki decided to take with him. 

Gintoki squeezed his hand and when Toshirou turned to look at him, he found their faces inches apart. 

“You should start carrying a weapon too,” he said and that was the last thing Toshirou expected to hear. “We’ll find you something. Tomorrow, when we leave.” 

Maybe he wasn’t the only one shook up over the dead man. Gintoki had plucked half the mikan tree, shoving whatever he could down his gullet with no thought of food for tomorrow, went all the way back to the stream to get more water, and just about glued himself to Toshirou’s side to take care of him. He’d never suggested that Toshirou wield anything before, the implication being that Gintoki would protect the both of them. 

“Okay,” Toshirou agreed, a rock settling at the base of his throat. “We can do that. Tomorrow.” 

Even with the lack of light, this close to him, Toshirou could see the curve of Gintoki’s smile. “Yeah,” he responded. “Tomorrow.” 

* * *

He was in a dream and knew it because there was no way he’d ever let his mother relive such a horrifying moment. 

Her hair was everywhere, messy, spilling from the ribbon that tied it back. Her eyes were frantic, wide in fear, and Toshirou reached for her—to pull her away from the danger, to keep her safe, to do something to save her. 

His fist closed around the ribbon. 

He was yanked backwards, away from his mother, pulled against someone else. Shaking hands tried to cover his eyes, but it was ineffective. 

The man standing over her was grinning, a vicious smile that exposed teeth and gums. A katana plunged into her body over and over, dyeing everything in a grisly shade of blood red.

Toshirou woke with a gasp, body tense all over, nails digging into his palm. 

It was still dark, the sounds of night loud and mixing with the pounding of his heartbeat in Toshirou’s ears. Around him, the temple walls swam into view, grey and colorless in the absence of light. 

“What is it?” Gintoki yawned. It was half-mumbled, half-spoken. 

“Sorry,” Toshirou muttered, clutching at the edge of his yukata. He could feel the rough, dried texture of old blood on the cloth. For a moment, he was standing in the courtyard again, holding the sickle, and instead of the nameless man, it was his mother’s killer lying on the ground. “Go back to sleep.” 

Gintoki made some sort of noise and then suddenly Toshirou was breathing into a head of hair. Heavy limbs flopped onto him, an arm curling over his shoulder to stop him from squirming.

“Okay,” said Gintoki. “You can be my pillow. In exchange, I’ll keep all the bad dreams away.”

Toshirou exhaled, the angry knot in his gut melting away with the air escaping his lungs. “That’s not how they work,” he protested quietly, but Gintoki was already silent, sliding with ease back into sleep. 

Toshirou stared at the ceiling, waiting for dawn to break.

* * *

They traveled.

They descended the mountain and began to make their way to the ocean as planned, Gintoki leading and Toshirou following behind. It was a hard journey, with little to no food and water, and there was only so far they could walk in a day. The days slowly turned to weeks and time took on almost an abstract quality: it passed, that was all.

Toshirou taught Gintoki which trees had edible bark and how to get to it, underneath the inedible bits; in return, Gintoki taught him the things to look for when looting a battlefield.

It was during one of these desperate scavenging raids when they met him. 

Toshirou was exhausted and hungry. The season had been turning faster than he predicted and the winds from the north blew in silently and quick, nipping at the heels of summer. It wasn’t completely autumn yet, much less winter, but it seemed like the oncoming cold was a forecast of things to come. Winter was going to be bleak this year. 

Even the conflicts were getting bloodier and larger, as if each side wanted to settle things before the frigid weather truly set in.

Toshirou was so tired, he sat down on a fresh corpse before his legs could completely give out. Gintoki wordlessly took a seat next to him, reaching out to lace their fingers automatically. 

Gintoki was so warm compared to himself. There was a chill in his bones that he couldn’t escape from, no matter how close he got to the fire or how he wrapped himself in threadbare blankets. His head was pillowed on Gintoki’s shoulder before he could stop, though Gintoki didn’t complain. 

It seemed, as ever on days like these, the skies were red. 

There was the crunch of gravel and footsteps and Toshirou felt Gintoki shift. 

“What?” Gintoki all but snarled. 

There was a strange man in front of them, a soft smile on his lips. His hands were tucked away, unseen.

“I heard about two corpse-eating demons wandering the battlefields. I wasn’t sure what I’d find.” 

Toshirou looked up at the man—he seemed so benign, with his grey kimono and kind-looking face, but something about him must’ve set Gintoki on edge. He was practically vibrating with tension.

Gintoki got up, disentangling himself from Toshirou, and faster than a blink, he was charging at the stranger, his blade drawn and a snarl pulling back on his lips, baring his teeth like a beast. 

The man easily put Gintoki down and suddenly, Toshirou was seeing red. No one hurt Gintoki, not if he could help it. 

He rushed the man, grabbing a discarded katana as he went. It was huge and unwieldy, but he was focused on cutting his opponent down. 

Just as effortlessly as he defeated Gintoki, the man threw him down in the dirt too. 

“You’re both a hundred years too early to defeat me,” the man laughed. He looked from Gintoki to Toshirou and back, the smile on his face unwavering. “My name is Yoshida Shouyou. I plan to run a school and I’d like both of you to come attend.”


	2. 秋 (autumn)

>   
>  **秋 (AUTUMN)**

Shoka Sonjuku started small. It was just Toshirou, Gintoki, and Shouyou-sensei; weeks passed with only the three of them. 

Gradually, the local kids started coming by, asking for lessons. There was one or two at first, and then a whole slew of them arrived.

They were all poor and couldn’t pay tuition for any of the schools nearby, but Shouyou-sensei welcomed them and taught them reading and writing. Gintoki favored the martial lessons, easily becoming the best student under Shouyou-sensei’s tutelage. Toshirou had only won once against Gintoki, but he harbored no anger at his many losses. He only strove to do better.

It was peaceful and quiet, as much as it was ever going to be with Gintoki.

Then, like a storm, Takasugi and Katsura came to them.

* * *

“Again!” 

“Oh, for—just give up! You’re not winning!” 

“Says who? Our scores are even right now! Again!” 

Toshirou heard rather than saw the exchange and sighed, wondering why he was the one the younger students always went to when Gintoki and Takasugi got too carried away for the umpteenth time. Shouyou-sensei had threatened to string them up by their toes to the trees outside if they continued to wreck the building, but unfortunately, he was teaching a new brood of students and wasn’t to be disturbed unless the whole of Shoka Sonjuku was burning to a crisp. 

Then he spotted Katsura also in the training hall off to one side, calmly carrying on with his katas and paying no mind to the furious exchange of blows happening next to him. No one else was dumb enough to be around Gintoki and Takasugi when they got like this. 

Well, with a few exceptions. 

Toshirou stepped inside, ducking as two wayward bokkens went flying past his head. Behind him, he heard the pitter-patter of feet on wood as the younger kids stopped right at the threshold, terrified to go in.

Gintoki and Takasugi were past the sword-fighting stage of their battle and were now in fisticuffs, screaming nonsense at each other. 

“You’re already— _ack!_ —dead!” 

“As if you could ever be Kenshiro, you’re more like a— _don’t bite me, asshole_ —Yamucha!” 

“At least I’m not Yajirobe! Only good at delivering senzu beans! Where’s my senzu bean?!” 

“Right here, stay still and let me feed you! Ah, sorry, that wasn’t a senzu bean, it was my fist. Here, have another one! Ah, that was also my fist.” 

“Enough!” Toshirou yelled, grabbing Katsura by the scruff and throwing him between Gintoki and Takasugi just as they’d each wound back their arms, ready to give each other matching black eyes. The interruption worked at the cost of Katsura’s face.

“It’s past three, it’s time to let the kids train,” Toshirou snapped when everyone's attention turned to him. “Either teach them or go do something productive.” 

Both Gintoki and Takasugi pouted. For two very different individuals, they were ridiculously similar when it came to some things.

“There’s plenty of space around us,” Gintoki protested, but fell silent at the glare Toshirou shot him. 

“Sensei’s almost done with his class; he’ll be here soon. What if he gets comes and no one’s done their warm-ups yet because you two idiots were too busy screwing around? Are you going to waste Sensei’s time?” It was a low blow, but it had to be said; otherwise Toshirou wasn’t sure either of them would stop. He turned the glare on Katsura, who was pulling himself up into a sitting position. “And you. You should know better than to egg them on.” 

“I’ve done nothing of the sort. I’m just an innocent bystander, I’ll have you know.”

Toshirou ignored him and turned back to the younger students still hovering at the edge, hesitant of what to do. “Get in here and stop being pansies for once,” he barked, and they piled in, each looking distinctly frozen in fear. “Learn to fight your own battles! Hurry up and form your lines! Start with the basics!” 

“Oh no, he’s in a bad mood,” Toshirou heard from somewhere—he turned, and it was Gintoki stage whispering to Takasugi and Katsura. 

“Because I’m surrounded by idiots!” he roared. “Get to work or go commit seppuku!” 

After making sure Takasugi would lead the younger group of students in warm-up exercises—if he left that responsibility to either Katsura or Gintoki, there was no telling what kind of lunacy they’d come up with—Toshirou made his way back to the kitchen where he had been peacefully cataloguing supplies they needed for the upcoming winter before he was interrupted.

His list had been simple at first.

Rice and dried fruit was his first priority, as they could be stored for weeks without worry of going sour. And then necessary things like medicine and oil for their lamps. Finally, it ended with materials that would be nice to have, but not a necessity—extra blankets, thick socks, mayonnaise.

He had to act quick, before food became scarce as the fields stopped producing due to the approaching cold. The people in town would start looking to their own interests, hoarding supplies and raising prices. Toshirou sighed at the thought.

They hadn’t always needed so many things nor needed to spend so much, but there were extra mouths to feed now. There was more than just Shouyou-sensei, Gintoki, and himself now.

Satisfied with his assessment, Toshirou headed out the door again, tucking the list into his pocket. He wouldn’t be able to buy anything today; he’d have to go make arrangements with the stores first for the bulk of it. Perhaps later in the week he could go and make the actual purchases.

He made it to the front gates before Gintoki came charging up to him, bokken slung over his shoulder casually. “Running away after brazenly barking orders—” he paused mid-rant, his usual dead-eyed expression changing into something else. Annoyance, possibly. It couldn’t be anything else; regardless of whatever Toshirou did, he always seemed to agitate Gintoki these days.

“I’ll be back before dinner,” Toshirou said. “Going to take care of some errands.”

Gintoki’s brows furrowed even deeper as he puffed up his cheeks, as if ready to retort, but no words came. Toshirou wasn’t sure how to interpret the look. If anything, Gintoki was resembling a wounded chipmunk more and more.

Finally, Gintoki muttered: “liar. You’re not running errands. You know, you don’t need to work. Sensei said so.”

“Go back to training,” Toshirou prodded, gentler than he usually would have, relieved that Gintoki didn’t seem too irritated with him. “Otherwise Takasugi really is going to over take you as number one.” 

“What about you? You’re going to fall behind at this rate,” Gintoki shot back almost immediately. “You were supposed to be my number two, but you let Takasugi take it. Katsura’s going to be better than you soon too.” 

This was an age-old argument, one that Toshirou had no desire to partake in, especially since it would frequently deteriorate into childish bickering about who was stronger. “I’ll be back,” he repeated, gritting his teeth but determinedly not falling for the bait. He had things to do and nowhere on the list was getting into a tiff with Gintoki. “Don’t worry about me; I haven’t slacked off on training, if that’s what you’re implying. I’ll see you in a bit.” 

He waved, not bothering with Gintoki's noisy protests, and set off to the little coastal town that Shoka Sonjuku sat near the border of. 

The walk wasn’t long, but the road was in desperate need of repairs, and Toshirou made a game of kicking upturned pebbles on the way. Overhead, the golden rays of sunshine inched slowly towards the verdant mountains. Sunset wouldn’t be for a while yet, but the days were gradually getting shorter, evidence that the season was turning. 

His thoughts, inevitably, turned inward.

There was something strange going on with Gintoki. Toshirou had caught that awful, blank-eyed stare directed at him more times than he could count and it was unnerving. At first, Toshirou thought it was because of a prank, that there was likely some paper attached to his back that read ‘kick me!’, but every time he checked, there was none. Gintoki just stared at him and after several more moments, would look away and pretend nothing was wrong. This would repeat the next day and the next, regardless of Toshirou catching this behavior or not.

They’d been friends long enough that Toshirou knew Gintoki had something to say; it was a matter of _what_ that Gintoki was trying to spit out that was puzzling Toshirou. 

Gintoki was never reserved about anything and essentially had no brain-to-mouth filter. He hadn’t known Gintoki to censor his words for anyone, not even Sensei. Toshirou was worried; why the silence? What could he not say? When had this rift appeared between them? 

Upon seeing the first row of buildings that started leading into town, he viciously shoved everything out of his mind as he picked up his pace, deigning to run instead of meander slowly, heading directly to the heart of the shopping district near the pier. He stopped at every shop that he needed to, arranging for a day later in the week to pick up the hefty amount of items on his list with each shopkeep. 

“You’re such a good boy,” one of the missus said with a wistful-sounding sigh. “I wish my son was more like you.”

Toshirou ducked his head, not knowing how to respond. It was one thing when it was Shouyou-sensei praising him, but another entirely from a stranger. “I’ll be back in two days with payment,” he said, face heating up hotter than a kettle, and made his escape.

Finally, when he was done securing the items from his shopping list, Toshirou went down to the docks where the permeating scent of salt and brine wended its way through his nose and settled into his bones. A small fishing boat was just coming in, right on time. Standing at the bow was the owner, Sawada-jiisan, dressed in an old, worn-out blue kimono that had seen better days.

Toshirou waved at Sawada-jiisan, who waved back and tossed a thick length of rope at Toshirou’s feet. 

“Thanks for always being here, kid,” he said with a wide grin, showing off his missing teeth. “Don’t think I’ll be needing your help at the end of the week, though.” 

Toshirou tethered the boat and the owner lowered a plank of wood, connecting it to the dock. 

“It’s unusual for this time of year,” Sawada-jiisan continued, eyes glancing towards the sea, “but a storm’s coming. A big one too.”

To Toshirou, it didn’t look any different from a usual day. The waves were a gentle cascade of deep blue, lapping rhythmically against the harbor, and there was nary a cloud in the sky. Even the breeze, lively as it was, was comfortable and warm.

“Better let that Sensei of yours know to start preparing for it. He’s got all you kids to look out for.”

Toshirou smiled and thanked him. “I’ll let him know,” he promised and began the arduous task of unloading crates of fresh fish.

* * *

Toshirou put the money he earned away into a little lock box that was kept in Shouyou-sensei’s room. There wasn’t much in there, but once the upcoming winter passed, it would be enough for Toshirou to buy passage back to Bushu. 

He wasn’t sure why he wanted to go back, just that one day he had woken up and was overcome with a desire to see his childhood home again. He missed the high woodsy mountains, the crisp air that came with too much nature, the rice paddies that he’d weave between when he was especially playful. 

Did the hut that he lived in with his mother still stand? He wanted— _needed_ —to go and pay his respects to her. It had been too long.

Her ribbon, frayed and faded, sat with the money at the bottom of the box. It was soft and worn, thin from use. He had finally put it away when he discovered a tear in it. Fearing that he’d lose it one day if he continued to wear it, Toshirou had made the decision to keep the ribbon safe. 

For a brief moment, Toshirou wound it around his fingers and tried to remember her. She had hair like his, long and dark, but her face was always pale. Her mouth, her eyes—

All he could see was the way they were twisted in horror and pain.

He dropped the ribbon as if burned and shut the lid.

It was best to put her to rest and move on.

* * *

“Stop trying to copy my work, Gintoki.”

Toshirou glanced up from his workbook to witness Gintoki leaning over Takasugi’s desk, pen in hand. 

“Are you an idiot?” Gintoki sneered. He was blatantly trying to copy and Toshirou knew he had no shame lying about it even though he was caught. “Because that’s an answer only an idiot would come up with.” 

“Then come up with your own!” Takasugi snapped, trying to elbow Gintoki away. 

Toshirou sighed and did his best to ignore them, but in such a small room, it was hard to do. 

“Look, here, let me fix that for you.” 

“Stay away, you asshole!” 

There was a kerfuffle and a desk went skittering across the floor. Toshirou determinedly did not look up, keeping his eyes firmly on the page where his own writing stared up back at him. None of it made any sense to him and the words only looked like abstract drawings. His mind wasn’t focused at all, too distracted by Takasugi and Gintoki.

“Contrary to the saying, eyes can’t actually burn holes in things,” said Katsura, much too close for comfort. 

“Don’t tell me you’re trying to copy too,” Toshirou growled, but he didn’t move to cover his work. 

Katsura made a small noise of amusement, as if the very thought of him copying something as silly as Toshirou’s work was something funny. 

Maybe it was; Katsura’s writing was almost beautifully flawless and the ideas he expressed with his words were concise and articulate. He was a prodigy in every way and Toshirou couldn’t compare to that. It had been little wonder why Katsura had been a scholarship student at that hoity-toity school he and Takasugi used to attend.

Chicken scratch peered up at Toshirou from his workbook and he wanted to slam it shut. He hadn’t learned to read and write until Shouyou-sensei had taken him in and to this day, writing was still awkward and strange to him. It took him far longer to parse through letters than it did for everyone else.

“He’s more disruptive than usual lately,” Katsura commented pointedly, pulling Toshirou's attention back to him. “Almost like he wants attention.”

“Takasugi’s giving him plenty of that already,” Toshirou snarled as a pen went flying through the room to embed itself in the wall. Sensei was going to be mad about that, but Gintoki and Takasugi could suffer for all he cared.

“Well,” said Katsura, still too close; it was like he’d never heard of personal space. “Maybe if you give him treats from time to time, he’ll behave.” 

Treats? Did he think Gintoki was a dog? 

The moment Toshirou glanced over at Katsura, he regretted it. He should have kept his head down, nose in his book, and minded his own business. Instead, he was subjected to Katsura being...Katsura.

“You see?” said Katsura, holding up some ugly rodent thing that could have been mistaken for roadkill. It blinked up at Toshirou with beady black eyes. “Calm as a goose.” 

Toshirou didn’t want to know where he found that thing, how he managed to sneak it into the school, or even why he was hanging onto it. Katsura, for all his brilliance, was a social dunce. The biggest idiot out of all the idiots Toshirou knew.

“Bekachu, meet Toshirou. Toshirou, you shouldn’t frown so much. Oh, look, you’re scaring Bekachu; I’m going to have to ask you to stop doing that.” 

Toshirou’s grip on his pen was so tight it snapped, spilling ink everywhere and ruining the past half hour of work. 

Screw it, Toshirou thought wildly. If Gintoki was getting to copy off of Takasugi, Toshirou was going to liberate some ideas from Katsura. “Give me your essay. I just want to see something.”

Katsura frowned, but handed it over without comment.

Gintoki popped up at Toshirou’s elbow. Their eyes met for a brief glance and Toshirou looked away, suddenly even more angry. “If he gets to see it, I do too,” Gintoki declared, pushing into Toshirou’s personal space.

“You’re both assholes and don’t deserve to be called students here,” Takasugi hissed, stomping over too. “Hand it over, I want to read too. Not for copying purposes, of course.”

Toshirou wordlessly passed it along. All Katsura had written for his composition was a list of names with Bekachu circled at the very bottom.

“Oh,” said Gintoki and passed it back.

* * *

Toshirou was beginning to hate the color red. 

He jumped with a start out of sleep, panting hard. Images of his mother flashed before his eyes. Her face was so pale it was like polished bone and when she was cut open, the blood that spilled took any remaining semblance of warmth from her skin. 

Years had passed, and yet Toshirou still dreamt about that day, reliving it with a clarity and vividness that belied the passage of time. 

Toshirou breathed through his nose and tried to get his heart under control. 

“You okay?” 

In the futon next to him, Gintoki peered out from underneath a cocoon of blankets. 

It was late enough that Toshirou was surprised to see Gintoki awake; if there was anything anyone knew about Gintoki, it was that he loved his sleep. Toshirou must have startled him awake with his nightmare. 

“Oi. Toshirou?” Gintoki frowned, though the sleepiness in his expression blunted its usual sharpness.

Blinking the sudden fog in his vision away, Toshirou managed to croak around the tightening of his throat: “I’m fine.” 

He turned over so he faced the wall instead, throwing his blankets up over his ears. There was no adequate words to explain and he certainly didn’t have the energy or the nerves to deal with Gintoki’s questioning gaze. He waited in silence, unmoving and worn, until he heard the soft snores that meant Gintoki was asleep again.

Toshirou got up and tip-toed out of the room, eyes burning and a scream lodged beneath his tongue.

* * *

In the morning, the sunlight had been a thin, reedy thing that had nearly all but disappeared by the time Toshirou realized he needed to head to town and pick up the supplies he arranged for. 

“Sensei,” Toshirou called, spotting the person he was looking for sitting at the edge of the engawa. Lunch had been served not too long ago and everyone was either dozing or relaxing, the day’s meal lulling them into a sort of tranquil peace that came with a full belly. He didn’t like the way the weather was looking and an impatience thrummed in his veins at the quiet atmosphere. “I need to borrow the cart.” 

Shouyou-sensei closed the book he was reading, green eyes gentle as always, a small smile on his face. 

“Toshirou,” he greeted. “Are you headed into town?” 

“Yeah.” Toshirou waved his list of supplies. He’s added more items to it since he made it, but it was just little things. “I'll be picking up some stuff that we’ll need. Oh, and I was also supposed to tell you that a storm might be coming in at the end of the week, so we’ll need to prepare for that too.” 

“You do so much for everyone here,” Shouyou-sensei said, patting the empty spot next to him in invitation. “Between you and me, you’re the second in command.” He winked at Toshirou and then whispered: “Don’t tell Gintoki that. He’s the jealous type.” 

Toshirou nearly giggled—he caught himself in time and managed to disguise it as a cough, feeling his face get hot. He wasn’t a child anymore, but Shouyou-sensei always seemed to know what to say to get him to laugh. 

“Ah, that’s right. Here you go.” Shouyou-sensei dug into his pockets and pulled out his wallet. “This should cover the expenses. Use what you need within reason.” 

“Thank you.” Toshirou accepted it and started to get to his feet, but the next words from Shouyou-sensei pinned him in place where he sat. 

“Are you happy here?” 

Toshirou nearly dropped the wallet in surprise. 

“Of course I am,” he replied, bewildered. What brought this on?

The smile on Shouyou-sensei’s face got even wider, as if amused by his answer.

“This is a school, first and foremost, and you are my student. I’d be a failure as a teacher and mentor if I didn’t notice their struggles, whether it be with academia or with themselves. I want you to be happy here and know that you needn’t shoulder so much, for the school and for yourself.”

He was frozen, not knowing what to say, but Shouyou-sensei patted Toshirou on the knee and changed the subject. “If you’re going into town, take Gintoki with you. He can pull the cart.” 

“What? But training—”

“Nonsense. He’s got the strength of an ox; you might as well put it to use.” Shouyou-sensei got up from his sitting position and stretched. “Come on, let’s get the cart out of storage. We can also get the ama-do while we’re at it.” 

He held out his hand and patiently waited for Toshirou to take it. 

* * *

“Sorry, I didn’t think Sensei would make you come along.” 

Gintoki shrugged, towing the wooden cart along behind him with ease. It wasn’t that it was heavy—Toshirou could have done it without any difficulties too—but Shouyou-sensei insisted.

“It’s fine,” said Gintoki, even though Toshirou knew he was missing afternoon training. They were both missing it. It was not fine.

Toshirou kicked at a pebble on the dusty road. It bounced twice and then rolled, falling onto the banks of the river, which looked swollen and dark. 

Unexpectedly, Gintoki laughed. “This is nostalgic,” he said. “It’s been a while since it’s just us.”

“We talk to each other every single day,” Toshirou responded.

Gintoki shook his head, white curls bouncing with the motion. He needed a haircut desperately; his head was beginning to resemble more of an unsheared sheep than anything human. “I meant just the two of us.”

Toshirou blinked, not sure what it was Gintoki was getting at. “Isn’t it better?” he asked. “We’re not alone anymore. Plus, you have a family, with Sensei and everyone. It’s not lonely.” 

Gintoki turned to him, frowning. “You’re not part of the family?” 

His breath stopped in his throat. Was he? He glanced at Gintoki from the corner of his eye, judging the reaction. “I am,” he replied with slow realization, but his response wasn’t quick enough and was so quiet that Gintoki’s frown deepened. 

Toshirou found another pebble and kicked that out of the way too. This one rolled to Gintoki’s side of the road, but Gintoki just trod over it, paying it no mind.

“It feels like you’re going away,” said Gintoki after a moment. “We used to do everything together. But now I’ll look around and you’re not there. I have to go find you and you’re never anywhere I’d expect. One day, you’ll be gone when I’m not looking.”

“That’s stupid,” Toshirou said. “I’ve always been here.” 

“Then why are you working instead of training?” Gintoki shot back. “Where are you during lessons? Weren’t we going to be samurai?” 

“‘If we follow the bushido of our hearts, we can all be samurai’,” Toshirou quoted. “Sensei’s words.” 

Gintoki made a frustrated noise and the wood of the cart handle made an ominous cracking sound, as if he was gripping it to a breaking point. 

“Don’t destroy the cart,” Toshirou warned. “We don’t have the money to replace it.” 

“Don’t avoid the question. You’re running away, aren’t you? You’re going somewhere. Aren’t we enough? Why the hell are you running away now?”

Toshirou inhaled. His blood went hot and then cold, his limbs freezing into place. An angry, hollow feeling crawled up to his chest, settling there. It was part fury and part shame, but mostly at himself.

When did Gintoki realize all of this? 

“Fine,” snapped Gintoki when Toshirou let the silence go on too long. “You can go, but only if you can beat me one on one.” 

Toshirou looked up at him and felt his eyes narrow into a glare. “That’s not fair,” he started to say, but stopped. The expression on Gintoki’s face was one he’d never seen directed at him before, a mixture of derision and scorn twisted into a smile. 

“Yeah, that’s right, it’s not fair because you can’t beat me. Whose fault is that, hmm?” 

“You asshole, you can’t keep me—”

“So you _are_ leaving!” 

“Why does it matter so much to you that I am?!” 

Gintoki dropped the cart and stomped towards Toshirou, shoulders squared. When he tried to back away, Gintoki grabbed him by the front of his kimono, pulling him face to face with nowhere to run.

Gintoki reared his head back and—even when Toshirou knew what was going to happen—he couldn’t stop it in time. Their foreheads slammed together painfully, the feeling of it reverberating through Toshirou’s skull as his brain jostled in place, the blood pumping through his veins all rushing loudly to his ears. 

“I want to help you, you idiot!” Gintoki screamed. “Stop thinking you’re alone! If you’re scared, that’s fine! I’m here!” He flung a hand out, gesturing at the cart. “If you need help, ask for it! You would have done all this by yourself if Sensei didn’t say anything. Am I that unreliable that you won’t even ask for something so simple?” 

“Of course not,” Toshirou snapped, trying to push Gintoki away, but failing. Gintoki was moronically strong and didn’t hesitate to use that strength when he thought he was being righteous. “You’re the best swordsman Shouyou-sensei’s trained. The best in our school! I’m not interrupting your training when it’s stuff that I can do on my own!”

“How do you still not get it? It’s not about the shopping! You’re important! What would be the point of wielding a sword with no one to protect? It doesn’t matter how strong you get if you’re just alone!” 

This close, the red of Gintoki’s eyes reflected the same color as the sunset on the day they met. Toshirou was uncomfortably reminded of a time filled with endless wandering, not knowing when the next meal would come or whether he’d end up on the wrong side of a battlefield. 

It was no wonder Gintoki was trying so hard to hold onto everything that he had in the present. Before Toshirou had stumbled across him then, he had been by himself, taking care of himself—stronger than anyone in order to keep himself alive. But he had people now, no longer fighting only for survival. 

Gintoki was strong because he fought for others.

Toshirou, on the other hand, was fighting for nothing. Pride, maybe. Himself, possibly. 

He closed his eyes, not wanting to see anymore. His anger at Gintoki washed away and despite the sunlight overhead, a chill gripped him with invisible hands. 

“If you want to do chores so badly, all you had to do was ask,” Toshirou said, but he couldn’t find it in himself to put any bite behind the words. Even to his ears his voice sounded hollow. 

The grip on his yukata loosened. He felt rather than heard Gintoki sigh. 

“You know that’s not what I meant. Let me help you, Toshirou. I can help with the burden.” 

Toshirou stepped away and Gintoki let him. He walked off the road and onto the rocky banks of the river, stopping short of the water. A moment later, Gintoki joined him.

“I’m not running away,” he said. “You know I have nightmares sometimes. It’s…” Toshirou took a breath. “It’s about my mother. She was murdered.”

He kept his eyes on the waves, not daring to look up. He had never told another soul this secret he carried.

“I don’t remember much of her anymore, but I don’t think she’s resting in peace. She’s been coming into my dreams and I keep seeing her last moments. I want to go back to Bushu, to visit her one last time and pay my respects. Maybe it’ll help.” 

For a long moment, Gintoki said nothing. Toshirou bit his lip, not wanting the judgement or the silence. He shouldn’t have said anything; why did he let Gintoki goad him into this? 

No, that wasn’t it. In the moment, he thought he could be honest, he didn’t think Gintoki would have seen him any differently for having nightmares of his dead mother. 

Chest squeezing painfully, oppressive and harsh, Toshirou turned away and started walking back to the cart. 

A hand caught his, pulling him back and spinning him around so he was face to face with Gintoki again. 

“I said I wanted to help,” said Gintoki. “Did you think I’d be scared of your mom? We should go together. You can introduce us.” For a brief moment, his eyes were far away, seeing something that Toshirou wasn’t privy to, but with a blink, he was back. “Moms are important. If this is what you need, I’ll help you. You’re not alone.” 

Toshirou exhaled the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Why?” he whispered, his voice cracking. 

“Because you won’t be happy until you’ve put her to rest,” Gintoki replied, his frankness making Toshirou wish he was a better person. “You’re not... you’re the one not at peace.” 

The cruel, crushing feeling in his chest began to ease, each breath bringing a lightness in. He saw the surprise on Gintoki’s face before he realized that his vision was blurring. 

“Wait, no, don’t cry—”

“I’m not crying, you asshole,” Toshirou retorted and stilled when warm hands came up to wipe the moisture from his face. His heart was beating too loudly. 

Gintoki grinned, patting Toshirou’s cheeks and then squeezing them, the absolute dick. “They’re still like mochi,” he said. 

It stirred a near-forgotten memory of the height of summer and a lush forest with a shallow stream of water. The mountain, Toshirou recalled with sudden clarity. The mikan tree. The man with a sickle. 

He pulled away, wiping any remaining wetness from his eyes onto the sleeve of his yukata. Gintoki was still grinning, sly and mischievous. 

“We better get going,” Toshirou said, desperate to get Gintoki to stop looking at him like that. It made him feel too exposed and known all at once. “The shopping isn’t going to do itself.” 

“Do itself,” Gintoki snickered, though he followed Toshirou back onto the road to pick up the handle of the abandoned cart. 

“Are you twelve?” Toshirou rolled his eyes. They were finally back in a familiar rhythm and he didn’t feel wrong-footed anymore. He could do this; he could banter with Gintoki all day and then some. This was how they should be.

“Hey, I don’t know when I was born so I could be! I could just be a really tall twelve-year-old.” 

Toshirou spotted another pebble on the road, slightly larger than the ones before. He kicked it and it rolled to a stop several feet ahead into the perfect spot for him to kick it again.

Toshirou glanced at Gintoki’s shadow, a weak, gray blob from the clouded sun. It walked resolutely next to his, both of the blobs forming one big one against the ground. “Just shut up and pull the cart.” 

* * *

Maybe it was because he had been dwelling so long on his mother’s murder or that it’d been brought up too often these days, but Toshirou was unsurprised to find himself in the midst of the same nightmare for the second night in a row.

It started out the same; him reaching for his mother, but only managing to grab the ribbon from her hair, sending a cascade of black to mix with the red of her blood. The sword the murderer wielded shone bright, sending shivers down Toshirou’s spine. 

“Don’t look, don’t look,” someone whispered, pulling him backwards. A hand much larger than his own tried to cover his eyes, to block the grisly scene, but Toshirou saw anyway. 

With each strike, she struggled to get away, but she was too weak. She couldn’t run, couldn’t move or fight back. Her mouth opened in a soundless whisper and her whole body stilled, eyes wide and unseeing, frozen forever in fear. 

The murderer grinned, sauntering over, blood still dripping from the katana's edge. 

“Young master,” the murderer said. “It’d be a shame if I had to cut you down too. Let him go.” 

Toshirou was held even tighter to someone’s chest and a body put itself between him and the killer just as he saw the glinting blade rise. 

Toshirou bolted upright, heart pounding loudly in his ears, eyes wide open as he blinked the last vestiges of the nightmare from his vision. For a moment he was confused—where was he? He was home in a tiny hut on the edge of Bushu, he was in an abandoned temple on a forgotten mountain, he was in his room at Shoka Sonjuku. 

A hand found his, uncurling his fingers from the fist he was making. Toshirou startled at the touch, staring at who it was that touched him.

Gintoki yawned. 

There was no clock in the room, no way to tell time. The brittle crispness in the air made it feel like three in the morning, the in-between state of too late or just early enough. No one else should have been awake.

“Again?” Gintoki murmured, the word coming out muddled and slurred.

“Yeah,” Toshirou replied after a moment. He didn’t have to turn away. “Go back to sleep.” 

“Mmkay,” said Gintoki and he was out like a light, but his hand remained on Toshirou’s. 

After getting his breathing under control, Toshirou tucked Gintoki's hand back into his blankets and then got up as quietly as he could. He made his way to the training hall, bare feet against cold wooden floors. 

It was completely dark out, not even a hint of the moon overhead, and an almost-electric charge crackled in the air, bringing with it the sharp scent of sea salt. The storm was coming, but he was no weatherman and he couldn’t tell when it’d be here.

Toshirou grabbed a bokken and turned off the finer parts of his brain—he didn’t want to remember his mother, who he couldn’t envision smiling anymore. He didn’t want to think about winter or spring or the inevitable trip home.

He threw every bit of himself into the drills that Shouyou-sensei had taught, something that Gintoki mastered so easily compared to him. It was in doing these exercises, pushing all extraneous thoughts from his mind, that Toshirou managed a reprieve from his own madness. 

When he was finally exhausted, dawn was already approaching, basking everything in a grey and misty light. Overhead, heavy thunderclouds hung ominous in the sky. 

* * *

It was evening when the storm truly hit; before, it had just been a drizzle of rain. Now, the wind howled something fierce as the heavens pissed down enough water to drown the world. Thunder rumbled loud enough that Toshirou could feel it vibrating into his bones.

The training hall had been converted temporarily into a refuge for the poorer townsfolk that lived too close to the sea; the rising tides had swallowed up the docks and people fled inland as the water continued to swell. The rich had nothing to fear, with their high walls and storm shelters. Takasugi had seethed when he saw the line of people, muttering sharp words that Toshirou couldn’t help but overhear. 

After helping Shouyou-sensei find a place for everyone, it was late into the night already. 

“What the hell’s got you upset?” Gintoki asked, as they crammed themselves back into the single room they all shared. Toshirou glanced over at Takasugi, the only one of them looking apoplectic.

Takasugi glared venomously at being called out. 

“None of your business,” Takasugi gritted through his teeth.

Katsura, bravely and stupidly, patted Takasugi’s shoulder. 

“It’s not good to keep feelings bottled up,” admonished Katsura. “Otherwise you’ll end up alone. Aren’t we all friends? You can tell us.” 

Toshirou would hardly call them all friends; they just happened to live under the same roof. He wasn’t about to say any of it, but he was sure the glance Takasugi sent him meant he shared the same sentiment. 

Shrugging Katsura’s hand off, Takasugi placed the lamp he carried on the floor. Outside, the high winds roared and rattled the wooden frames of the ama-do. The sound of the rain was fierce, almost as if it were tiny pebbles assaulting the building rather than water.

Gintoki reached into the closet and pulled out his futon, beginning to ready himself for sleep. Toshirou followed suit, dragging his over to the empty spot that Gintoki left for him.

He and Gintoki had always put their futons next to each other and tonight was no exception. No one had ever tried to get in between them and Toshirou wasn’t sure what he’d do if one day someone did. 

Just be disappointed, probably. 

“They’re all useless,” Takasugi hissed finally as the flickering flame in the lamp started to get low. He stood with his hands clenched into fists, glaring down at his feet. “Where were those great clans? The people leading us? Holed up in their pretty homes, safe and warm! They don’t care for anyone except themselves!” 

“Looking at everyone that’s come all the way here for sanctuary, it certainly feels like it,” Katsura agreed. He was holding Bekachu again; where he retrieved the rodent, Toshirou wasn’t sure. It had evidently been hiding in this room somewhere, since Katsura didn’t have it with him earlier. 

“Aren’t you one of them?” Gintoki asked.

It was no secret that both Takasugi and Katsura were from samurai families, that prior to coming to Shoka Sonjuku, the school they attended cared about supercilious things like lineage and social standing. Toshirou didn’t blame them for wanting to leave that behind.

Takasugi’s leveled his gaze at Gintoki. “I might be related to them by blood and they might have once been my family, but I don’t stand with them,” he said. “If you lump me in with them ever again, I’ll kill you. Especially if it’s you.” 

Toshirou had never seen Takasugi so angry; the fury in the look he directed at Gintoki was indescribable. His voice was steely and tense in a way that it usually wasn’t. 

The temperature in the already-cold room dropped even further. 

“Stop,” Toshirou sighed before they could come to blows; if it was just the two of them, he had no doubt that they’d be in fisticuffs already. 

Katsura shoved Bekachu at Takasugi’s chest, who just looked down at it in disgust. “I’m not touching that damned mole,” he snapped. 

“How dare you, his name is Bekachu,” Katsura said. “Hold him for a second, I need to get my futon.” 

When Takasugi made no effort to hold Bekachu, Katsura sighed and balanced it on top of Takasugi’s head. 

Toshirou determinedly looked away from the murderous glare that Takasugi was sending to everyone, unwilling to make eye contact with him while Bekachu was on his head. 

“If you still have so much energy, you can go keep watch. With a storm this big and so many people here, it’d be more prudent to have a lookout in case something goes wrong,” said Toshirou to the ceiling. “Sensei was saying something about that earlier.” Shouyou-sensei had actually said nothing about setting up sentries, but their sensei was one of Takasugi’s biggest weaknesses. Toshirou was absolutely not above exploiting it. 

“Fine,” Takasugi gritted through his teeth. He waited until Katsura had set up his futon before lifting Bekachu off his head and dumping it into Katsura’s waiting arms. He grabbed the lantern despite the fact the flame was nearly out and stomped out of the room, slamming the sliding door behind him.

Toshirou let out a breath he didn’t know he was hiding. He was about to crawl underneath his blankets when he realized that Katsura was staring at him. The room wasn’t completely dark, but dark enough that he could only make out the silhouette of the other boy, yet the fact that he was turned towards Toshirou was unmistakable. 

“How long do you think it’ll take him to realize you just lied?” Katsura whispered, but in the aftermath of Takasugi’s anger, even the whisper was loud. 

“It might not be something Shouyou-sensei said we needed, but it’s something that he could have volunteered to do,” Toshirou replied. “It’s not a lie that having a lookout would be helpful.”

There was a thump, the sound of a fist hitting the floor. 

“You don’t need to worry about him,” snapped Gintoki. “He’s a dumbass.”

“But he’s not exactly wrong,” Katsura muttered. “Is he, Bekachu? Ah, I can’t see your cute face, it’s too dark.”

“You’re going to crush that thing in your sleep one day,” Toshirou warned, unable to see— _hah!_ —how Bekachu was cute at all. It was such an ugly, squashed-looking thing. 

“You’re all so noisy!” complained Gintoki. “Stop, stop!”

A hand wrapped around Toshirou’s wrist and yanked him down onto his futon so he was no longer awkwardly kneeling over it. 

“No more talking,” Gintoki said with an obnoxiously fake and loud yawn. “It’s time to sleep.”

Toshirou lifted up the edges of his blankets and pulled them up and over himself, a task that was awkward to do as Gintoki still hadn’t let go of him. When he was comfortable, Toshirou shook his wrist, gently trying to dislodge the grip on it. 

Almost as if burned, Gintoki released him. 

Toshirou blinked into the darkness. There was the sound of Gintoki shifting underneath his blankets. 

“Good night,” he whispered to the shadowed blob next to him.

“Good night,” Gintoki responded, voice sounding strangely high pitched and strangled. 

Toshirou closed his eyes, ignoring whatever it was that was putting Gintoki into a tizzy despite the one calling for everyone to go to bed. Outside, the storm howled, turbulent and relentless, and Toshirou let himself be lulled to sleep by the screaming of the wind and the violent sound of rain. 

Maybe on such a dismal night, his mother wouldn’t bother coming to visit his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to the amazing citsiurtlanu for the eleventh hour (midnight hour, actually) spag and for listening to me whinge over and over about this fic. I'm convinced she's actually a saint. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone that's stuck with me so far. I'm an incredibly slow writer and I worry a lot so I ended up rewriting this chapter twice and what've read is nothing at all like the original incarnation of the chapter. I've essentially written 20k of fic and threw half of that away because I didn't like it. There's still some things in this chapter that I'm not 100% about and there might be some discordance between some scenes because they're relics, but I couldn't handle not moving on anymore. Ohohoho~ Hopefully chapter three will be less of a hassle! 
> 
> Keep safe and thank you for reading. I appreciate you! <3


	3. 冬 (winter)

>   
>  **冬 (WINTER)**

Sipping quietly at his tea, Toshirou watched the snowflakes fall as he sat on the engawa facing the only tree in the courtyard. Ice and snow piled on the boughs, the weight of it bending the branches down toward the earth. Despite the quietness and tranquility, it only served as a reminder that New Year’s was less than a month away. 

An uneasy knot had made its home in Toshirou’s belly and settled there like stone.

He was finally the same height as Gintoki, who teased anyone that was shorter than him mercilessly—Takasugi had been subjected to a period of being called Shortysugi before he beat Gintoki’s ass soundly enough that the nickname had been dropped. 

Toshirou’s voice was deeper now too, not the youthful, airy sound of adolescence, but a gruffer baritone that resonated in his chest. His shoulders had broadened, his arms didn’t resemble twigs, and when he looked into a mirror, it was no longer the androgyny of childhood that stared back. 

His hair, however, remained long. Unlike Shouyou-sensei and Katsura, who preferred to leave their hair down, he had his pulled up into a ponytail. It was almost like the ones his mother used to do for him, only more messy. 

Time had passed so quickly—too quickly. Though he couldn’t recall his birthday, he was certain that he was of age and the thought of it, of leaving to strike his way and pave his own destiny, had Toshirou nervous. He had briefly given a thought to joining the war effort against the Amanto, but he didn’t have the same fire that Takasugi and Katsura had, and he also wasn’t searching for glory on the battlefield.

But what was he to do, then?

A blue hanten was shoved over him, jostling the cup of tea he held in his hand and the thoughts in his head. He glared up at Gintoki, who stared back impassively. 

“You want to get sick?” Gintoki asked. “Because this is how you get sick.”

“I’m fine,” Toshirou replied. “I have tea.” He sipped at it to make a point. 

“I fail to see how that helps,” Gintoki said, rolling his eyes. He dropped down into the space next to Toshirou, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his own hanten. “How are you not cold?” 

Toshirou shrugged. “Mind over matter.” 

“That’s not how it works,” muttered Gintoki as he shivered. He knocked his shoulder against Toshirou’s. 

“What?” 

“Tea. Gimme.” 

Toshirou sighed and started to get up to go to the kitchen to grab another cup, but Gintoki shook his head and gestured at the one Toshirou had just set down. 

“Why get up? We can share. I don’t have cooties.” 

Toshirou scowled. “Just because you’re too lazy to get one,” he groused, but other than that, he let it go. He refilled the cup with more hot tea and handed it over to Gintoki, who took it without a word of thanks, the ungrateful bastard.

As he was bringing it up to his mouth, Toshirou must have made a noise because Gintoki paused and glanced over. 

“What?”

“Whatever the hell you were thinking of doing, do _not_ do it,” Toshirou warned. “Turn the damn cup.” 

“Oh? What are you afraid of? Cooties? I just said I don’t have any. Oh, wait, is it indirect kisses? Are you so afraid of affection that even indirectly, it’ll cause you bodily harm?” Gintoki’s face changed from his dead-eyed, slack-jawed expression into one of his infuriating smirks. “Ah, the great Toshirou, scared of ghosts and dentists and—”

Toshirou counted to three in his head. He picked up the pot and attempted to pour it—just a little bit, not enough to cause any _permanent_ damage—over Gintoki’s lap. 

Gintoki dodged out of the way in thea nick of time.

“Oi, what the hell,” Gintoki said as he hopped about on the ground, kicking up snow with his feet, the cup of tea sloshing about in his hands. “What was that for?” 

“I just thought you’d like some more tea.” 

“The cup’s not even empty yet!” 

“Maybe you should skip the cup entirely and just drink from the pot!” 

A loud and entirely fake cough interrupted them. Toshirou looked up to see Shouyou-sensei stepping onto the engawa, a placid smile on his lips. “Don’t waste perfectly good tea,” he chided, but his eyes were twinkling with mischievousness. “If the two of you have so much energy, maybe you should go shovel snow off the roof. We wouldn’t want to have it collapsing on us in our sleep.” 

“Sensei!” Gintoki groaned dramatically. “We just got back from getting firewood! Do you know how heavy it was? We were carrying literal trees on our backs. We deserve some time for relaxation.” 

Shouyou-sensei’s eyes slid from Gintoki to Toshirou and back. 

Toshirou sighed and set the teapot down. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll do it.” 

“Thank you.” Shouyou-sensei’s smile widened and he looked every bit the same as the man Toshirou met nearly a decade ago. Everyone else had grown, but here he was, untouched by time. It was a relief how little Sensei had aged and because of it, he was Toshirou’s cornerstone. 

Shouyou-sensei placed a hand on Toshirou’s shoulder and then started fussing with his clothes, pulling them tighter over Toshirou’s chest and then smoothing down the collar as if he was a child again. Toshirou did his best to not squirm in place. “I can always count on you. Dress warmly when you do so; I don’t want you catching cold unnecessarily.” 

“I’ll go put on more layers,” Toshirou said at the same time that Gintoki muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘idiots can’t get sick.’ 

Toshirou resisted the urge to roll his eyes—not just five minutes ago, Gintoki had been worried about the same thing. He had even brought Toshirou his hanten. 

When Toshirou was dressed properly to face the weather for the second time in the same day, the snowfall outside had begun to worsen. Gintoki was still sitting where Toshirou had last seen him, sipping tea as he stared out into the courtyard. The ama-do were half pulled shut to keep the snow out, but there were still wet spots on the floor from melted slush. Sensei was nowhere to be seen, probably having retreated into his room for the remainder of the day.

“Think there’s going to be a blizzard tonight?” Gintoki asked, voice muffled by the edge of the cup. His eyes were fixed on the grey-colored sky.

Toshirou tore his gaze away from Gintoki, away from how red the tip of Gintoki’s nose turned in the cold, away from how he could see Gintoki’s breath in this frigid weather whenever he exhaled. Away from the cup that he had previously been drinking from, that Gintoki was drinking from now. 

“Probably not,” Toshirou replied. He stepped into his boots and into the courtyard, intent on finding the ladder that was no doubt buried underneath the snow somewhere. 

“You know what we need?” Gintoki didn’t wait for a response. “Alcohol. If we’re going to be snowed in, I think we’re going to need lots of it.” 

“If only you and Takasugi hadn’t drank it all in one of your stupid dick-measuring contests,” Toshirou shot back. He was still sour about it—the two had decimated the whole stash and had been hung over for days. That week, Shouyou-sensei had set the two on an uncompromising schedule of training and every night, they collapsed into their futons without a single snippy word passed between them. 

It made Toshirou feel slightly better, but it still meant he was out of alcohol for the foreseeable future. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gintoki grumbled. He slurped on the tea loudly and obnoxiously.

The cold was biting, with the icy snow and the frosty breeze. Toshirou couldn’t help it if his ears turned red or his cheeks became ruddy with color. He manfully ignored Gintoki, doing his best to ignore the teasing. All Gintoki really wanted was to get a rise out of Toshirou; this was some weird game that Gintoki was playing that Toshirou hadn’t figured out the rules to yet. 

After locating the ladder and shovel, Toshirou climbed to the roof and got to work. The whole time, he felt Gintoki’s gaze hot on his back, hotter than the tea that he was sipping loudly for no reason at all. 

He hadn’t rotated the cup to its side; he pressed his mouth exactly to where Toshirou’s lips had been. Toshirou didn’t have the courage to call Gintoki out on whatever the hell it was that he was doing. 

After all, it was just a cup of tea. He could drink it however he wanted.

* * *

It was inevitable in winter for someone to fall sick. It usually started with Takasugi or Gintoki and this time was no exception—within hours, Takasugi had taken Gintoki down with him. What made Toshirou worry was that the medicine they bought for situations like this had been destroyed by mildew and bugs and no one had had the foresight to replace them. 

Gintoki and Takasugi were going to have to deal without medicine for now; hopefully their fevers would recede on their own. 

“This is my room too,” Gintoki complained as Toshirou rolled him up in his futon and out into the hall. 

“I don’t want your germs in here,” Toshirou snapped. “Besides, it’ll be warmer next to the irori.” 

“But what if I have a nightmare and roll out of my futon and into the fire?” Gintoki whinged. He blinked sleepy red-rimmed eyes up at Toshirou. His face was damp with sweat and the white fringes of his hair were stuck to his forehead. Toshirou was used to seeing Gintoki pitiable, but this was a whole new level of pathetic.

Toshirou pretended to think about what Gintoki was saying before continuing to roll him away from the room. “If you fall into the fire, then you deserve it,” he said. He deliberately deposited Gintoki right up at the edge of the irori, where the fire was being tended to by Katsura. 

“One would think,” said Gintoki slowly, face inches away from a hearty blaze that might make a normal person panic, “that you’re deliberately trying to burn your only friend alive.” 

“One would be mistaken,” Toshirou replied. “You’re not my only friend.” 

“Don’t worry, if you die, we’ll cremate your remains,” Katsura said. There was a rabbit half-hidden in his lap, its nose twitching in a nervous motion every so often when the fire crackled.

“I’m not going to your funeral if you die in a lame-ass way,” Takasugi muttered from underneath a heavy layer of blankets on the other side of Katsura. A steaming cup of water was placed within hand’s reach and judging from the glistening wood of the floor, he had already managed to spill it once.

Gintoki grunted and then started to worm away from the edge of the irori in his futon. For someone that was sick, he had plenty of energy. Toshirou was of half a mind to knock him out so he could get the rest he obviously needed.

“I don’t know why I put up with all you bastards,” Gintoki said into his pillow, the words slightly muffled. He broke out into wet, hacking coughs and Toshirou sighed. 

The heavy snowfall outside had been steady and sustained for days; it was up past their knees with how high it had been piling and daily, they’d shovel the snow away only for more to appear the next morning. Because of this, Toshirou doubted that the apothecary in town was open, especially at this time of night. 

If the two idiots were still doing poorly in the morning, he’d run to town for supplies. 

“Go to sleep, Toshirou,” Katsura said, interrupting his thoughts. “I’ll keep an eye out on these two. I’ll wake you if something happens.”

“I’m not an invalid,” Takasugi snapped. He was rude enough normally, but with the fever and the cough, he was downright mean and vicious. “You don’t need to watch over me.”

“No, I don’t need to,” Katsura agreed. “But I will regardless.” 

Toshirou did his best not to laugh at the glare Takasugi leveled at Katsura, who ignored him in favor of the rabbit in his lap. Realistically, Toshirou had no idea where Katsura was getting all the animals—after the disappearance of the ugly mole thing years ago, they started appearing one after another, either abandoned pets or animals too young to survive on their own, but never more than one or two at a time. Toshirou suspected these were deliberate gifts. 

“Wake me up if someone dies,” Toshirou said, ignoring the plaintive whine from Gintoki at the statement. “Good night.” 

Katsura nodded, but didn’t look up from the rabbit. 

Toshirou retreated into the room he usually shared with the other three. It was larger, somehow, though he knew the dimensions of the room hadn’t changed. It felt empty. 

When he laid out his futon, he thought about placing it in the middle of the room, yet it didn’t seem right to do. He went to his corner, set everything down, and crawled beneath the covers. The wall was a solid pressure against his back. 

Toshirou shut his eyes, but without the usual snores that’d punctuate the night, sleep proved itself elusive.

* * *

“They’re not doing any better,” Katsura whispered. 

Shouyou-sensei sighed, staring down at his steaming hot cup of tea. His eyebrows were furrowed and his expression tight, lips pulled into an unhappy line. 

Toshirou glanced back at the shut kitchen door out of reflex, but neither Takasugi or Gintoki were in any shape to be eavesdropping. They had both been energetic enough at the start of their illness, cursing and bickering with anyone that’d engage them, but as time passed, they’d both fallen silent and into restless, fevered sleep. 

“We need to get some medicine,” Toshirou said, voicing what they were all thinking. 

“You can’t see a thing out there; the snow’s been falling for days,” Katsura said, though Toshirou noted that no disagreement came forth. “No one’s maintained the roads and with how high it’s piled in some places, there’s a possibility you might be buried alive. Even if you made it to the town proper, you’d still need to find your way back.”

There was no doubt that there was a possibility of things going wrong; but someone had to go. Gintoki and Takasugi were steadily getting worse.

“I’ll go,” Shouyou-sensei said. His hands were resting gently around his cup, as if chasing the warmth that was contained there. 

Toshirou looked over at Katsura and he realized that his expression was mirrored on the other man. Their thoughts were probably the same as well.

“Would you let one of us go instead?” Toshirou asked, turning back to his teacher. 

Shouyou-sensei managed a small smile, though it hardly reached his eyes. “As if I could ask any of my students to do something like this,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s alright; I’ll be fine. It’s Gintoki and Shinsuke we have to worry about.”

“I disagree,” Toshirou said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You are the heart and soul of Shoka Sonjuku,” interjected Katsura. “We cannot have you endanger yourself like this. We should let fodder be fodder; therefore, Toshirou, be a good boy and go buy the meds. It’s fine if you lose a toe or two.”

Toshirou slammed a fist on the table and glared at Katsura. He was too young to have high blood pressure, but everyday seemed to be pushing him in that direction. “What do you mean it’s fine if I lose a toe or two?! Go volunteer yourself and die!”

“But I’m not wrong, am I?” Katsura asked the rabbit in his lap. “You agree that Toshirou has to go, don’t you, Usapi Dekora?” 

The rabbit’s ear twitched. 

“See? Usapi Dekora agrees, now go,” Katsura said, motioning towards the door. “May the force be with you.” 

“I hate you,” said Toshirou, standing. 

Shouyou-sensei also started to stand, but Toshirou grabbed him by the shoulder and forced him back into his seat. “I can go,” he protested. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Toshirou countered. “I’ll be fine. I’ll come back with the medicine and with all my toes intact—I swear it.” 

Shouyou-sensei sighed and looked away. His shoulders sagged underneath Toshirou’s fingers. “Fine,” he said. “But if you fail to keep your promise, you’re not allowed to have mayonnaise for the next ten years.” 

Fear shot straight into Toshirou’s heart. If there was one lesson that had been hammered home in the many years at Shoka Sonjuku, it’s that Shouyou-sensei kept his word. The future was becoming more and more of an apocalyptic wasteland; he couldn’t imagine no mayonnaise for ten years! Screw Gintoki and Takasugi; he was the one that was going to die on the spot!

“Of course,” Toshirou managed to squeak as he crab-walked his way out of the kitchen. “For the mayonnaise.” 

* * *

The snow was up to Toshirou’s knees. Moving through the ill-maintained path was one of the worst things he’d ever done. Visibility was greatly diminished and through the silence of the falling snow, the ominous slaps of river water against icy rocks were like klaxons, warning Toshirou he was fairly close to the bank. The oil lamp he held aloft barely illuminated several steps ahead, making the usually-familiar landscape strange and foreboding.

But he had walked this path enough, gone to and from town so frequently, he could traverse it in his sleep. He wouldn’t make a misstep now after so many years—he couldn’t.

Toshirou relied on his instincts as he picked his way onwards slowly and steadily. Despite the layers he had on, the cold seeped through his clothes, settling into his skin. He could turn back; his wading trail through the snow made it simple to retrace his steps and he knew that no one would begrudge him for it. 

It was _easy_ to retreat. 

Gritting his teeth, Toshirou cursed both Takasugi and Gintoki under his breath. The two idiots were always trying to outdo one another and in this case, they were racing each other to some serious health complications. Why couldn’t they compete in something more productive, like who could clean up the fastest or who could cook the better dinner? 

“Oh, shit,” Toshirou cursed as his foot missed the road beneath the snow, realizing he was too close to the slope that led into the river. A quick wave of his lantern to the side revealed a chasm of blackness, the edges of each wave managing to catch brief reflections of the light before being swallowed. 

He corrected his path and continued, muttering to himself as he went. 

The journey took nearly three times as long as usual, but when he approached the edge of town, just seeing the little lights from inside the houses was a massive relief. The road got easier to walk on as he went, as it was more maintained, the snow flattened from being trod on the closer he got. 

Toshirou made a beeline to the doctor’s, noting that the small clinic had upgraded their wooden signage to a gaudy electric billboard that flashed in ugly neon colors. It was genuinely tacky for no discerning reason other than to be noticed. 

He pushed against the door, fully expecting it to be shut, but it opened. 

Inside was warm and the lights were bright, nearly blinding him. 

The room was small, barely holding a reception desk and a partially curtained-off area that was used as an examination room, which was currently occupied. The nurse, a woman not too much older than himself, looked up from her desk and greeted him with a smile.

“Welcome in,” she chirped. “Oh, Toshirou-san. You’re certainly here late!” 

“Joi-san,” he greeted her tentatively. There was something about her that unnerved him. Maybe it was the fact that her and her sisters all seemed to look eerily similar. Or maybe it was because she always smiled even when there was nothing to smile about. 

Once, when he was younger, he had accidentally sliced his forearm open while dueling Takasugi with real katanas. Shouyou-sensei had hurried him here to the clinic and when Joi-san saw him and the blood he had accidentally spilled on the floor, her lips had curled upwards. 

Now, in nearly the exact same as the last time he was here, right down to the oddly cheery tone, she asked: “what can we do for you tonight?” 

“Gintoki needs help,” he said, placing his lantern down and taking his kasa off his head, dusting the snow that had settled there onto the ground. “He’s been sick for days and doesn't seem to be recovering on his own.” He thought briefly about what he said. “Oh, and Takasugi’s also sick,” Toshirou amended. “I guess he’s got the same symptoms as Gintoki.” 

“I see,” Joi-san said. She turned around and called out: “Doctor Gero, Toshirou-san needs your help!” 

“I’ll be right there, I heard him,” came the curt reply from the doctor, who was partially hidden by a curtain as he attended to a patient. 

There was a grumble from the patient and then a yelp. “That hurt!” 

“It’s only a light sprain,” Doctor Gero said, getting up and pulling the curtain back. “Just keep your weight off of it for a week or so and you’ll be fine.” 

The man sitting on the examination table glared down at his splint, his black hair tied back into a lazy bun. His clothes were well made and seemed more expensive than the usual attire that workers around town would wear. Stubble sprinkled along his jawline, lending him an unkempt appearance. His thin lips, which haunted Toshirou’s nightmares with merciless laughter, was in the shape of a frown. His katana was laid across his lap, harmlessly sheathed. 

Toshirou blinked and blinked again. 

Doctor Gero was saying something, asking questions about Gintoki and Takasugi’s state of health or something similar, but he could hardly hear it. He answered belatedly, not quite sure what was coming out of his mouth, only that whatever he said had the doctor frowning and turning away to walk to the back room.

The man Toshirou stared at raised an eyebrow. “Did you have something to say?” 

Toshirou didn’t. 

He didn’t know what to say to his mother’s killer, but words formed in his mouth anyway. 

“Are you traveling?” he asked. 

“Not for the foreseeable future,” the man replied. “I’m here for business and now I’m an unlucky idiot that slipped on some ice.” 

“What sort of business?” Toshirou pressed. He stared at the katana the man held. It was different from what he remembered, the scabbard of it a sleek lacquered brown. The _tsuba_ of it was decorated with gold on black, a dragon spiraling around dark clouds. 

Toshirou’s hands itched for his own katana and he wished he had the foresight to bring it along.

“I’m a bodyguard,” the man said. He grunted as he got off the examination table and hopped forward. “You’re awfully inquisitive. Have we met before? You seem familiar.” 

In the state the man was in, Toshirou was certain that he was stronger. He had the use of all his limbs and the advantage in height. If he wanted to, he could reach out and take the katana from the man and cut his innards out. 

It’d be easy, just like how the man had cut his mother down. No one could stop him, not here. 

Toshirou realized he had been quiet for a little too long. 

“Arai-san,” Joi interrupted. “Your crutches.” 

The man, Arai, turned to the nurse and smiled. “Oh! Thanks, lady! Don’t think I’ll need those though, I’m just staying across the street.” 

Joi was staring at Toshirou, though she answered Arai. “If you’re sure,” she said. “I hope you won’t do anything else to injure yourself tonight.” 

“Not if I can help it,” Arai replied, winking at her. He swept past Toshirou and out the door, into the cold and inky darkness. Disappearing like every nightmare Toshirou ever had of that man. 

It left Joi staring at Toshirou and Toshirou staring back. 

Slowly, he unclenched his fists from his side. He hadn’t noticed; not even the stinging in his palms from digging his nails too deep into flesh recognized in his mind. 

Whether Joi thought he was acting out of sorts or not, she didn’t call him out. Instead, she put the crutches away and sat back down at her desk. 

From the back room, Toshirou could hear Doctor Gero rummaging around. 

“You seem kind of tense,” Joi said finally. He wondered if he was going to have to explain his behavior and how close the clinic was to becoming the scene of a murder. 

“Are you constipated?” 

Toshirou bit his lip. Wait, what?

“I am feeling a little tense,” he said, trying to change track. 

“I have something that should do the trick. It’ll relax your bowels and help with relieving that tension.” She put a little bottle down on the desk, the pills inside rattling around. 

“It might be a tension headache. I have to deal with idiots back home all day. You know how it is. Some days, I’m ready to explode into violence with how bad the headaches are. It’s so stressful.” 

“Take this once a day when you’re stressed. It may lead to violent explosions, but as long as you aim carefully, you’ll be fine. I suggest taking it during the day when there’s light so you can see where you’re—”

“Stop talking,” Toshirou pleaded. “Please.”

Joi frowned. “Maybe something stronger?” She reached for something on a shelf that seemed more terrifying than the little bottle. “You need to insert this into—”

“I’ll take these!” Toshirou grabbed the bottle and shoved it into a pocket just as Doctor Gero came back. 

Doctor Gero put two things down and gestured to the first bottle. “This is for the fever,” he said. “Have them take one twice a day with a meal, at least six hours apart. If the fever doesn’t reduce, they can have two, but no more than that. Got it?” 

Toshirou nodded and gestured to the second bottle that was decorated in flaming red. Doctor Gero tapped the cap for the red bottle. “This is for their sinuses. It’s ghost pepper paste. Give them a spoonful and it’ll clear everything right up. Anything else you need tonight?” 

Toshirou stared at the medication before him suspiciously. He’d never heard of ghost pepper paste before. 

“That’s not... cursed or anything, right?” he asked, cautious. He wasn’t keen on being haunted by any more ghosts, least of all peppers. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine!” Doctor Gero waved an arm. “Give these to Gintoki and Shinsuke and they’ll be back to normal in no time.” 

Toshirou nodded slowly, not quite trusting something that had the name ghost in it. But who was he to question the doctor? Plus, it wasn’t like he was scared of ghosts or anything.

“Thank you,” he said, reaching for the bottles but not quite touching them. He looked over at Joi and asked: “Can I have a bag?” 

* * *

The biggest twist of it all was that his mother was dying anyway. 

Toshirou knew she was weak and was sick; it was why she reached out to his father when previously, it had always just been the two of them.

If there was one person that he hated more than Arai, it was the man that fathered him. 

The day she died, she had sent Toshirou into town to the biggest house there was with a letter—a letter to his father, Hijikata Yoshito. The servants made him stay outside the high walls of the mansion while his father read over its contents. 

After an eternity of waiting, a young man came out and introduced himself as his brother, Hijikata Tamegorou. “Don’t tell Father, but he left the room and I read the letter on accident,” he said with a lopsided grin. “I can’t wait for you to join the household. You’ll love it here.” 

That didn’t happen—instead, Hijikata Yoshito demanded Toshirou leave.

“I’m going home,” Toshirou said, even when Tamegorou argued with his father that no, _this_ was his new home. “If you’re my brother, you should come home with me.” 

“I’ll take you back,” Tamegorou sighed. He seemed dejected for some unfathomable reason. “I’m so sorry. This must be confusing for you.” 

At the time, Toshirou wasn’t confused at all. Something had happened and it had to do with the letter that he had delivered to the residence. 

But whatever thoughts he had on the matter all flew out of his head when Tamegorou accompanied him home, back to the little hut away on the edge of Bushu that he and his mother lived in. He taught Toshirou songs that his mother didn’t know. Part way into the journey, when his legs got tired, Tamegorou even carried him up on his shoulders. 

When they finally made it back, the front door was slightly ajar and there was shouting, but Toshirou was too excited at the prospect of being home to realize something was wrong. 

Why was there shouting? His mother never shouted, especially not towards the end—she was so quiet, even with her coughs. 

“I’m home!” he announced and shoved the door open fully, running inside. 

A man, a stranger, _Arai_ , was standing there with his mother. 

She turned around, fear in her eyes, reaching out. It wasn’t until years later that he realized that wasn’t what she was doing at all; she had been trying to push him away. 

The flash of steel was so quick, Toshirou had no idea what was happening until big arms wrapped around him, trying to cover his face, to cover his eyes from seeing the gore. 

“Young master,” the murderer said, “it’d be a shame if I had to cut you down too. Let him go.” 

“No,” Tamegorou said and Toshirou could feel the rapid beating of his heart against his ear. “Arai, stand down. Why did you do this?” 

Arai didn’t stand down. He stepped forward, his feet kicking away at the body on the floor, the blood pooling and seeping into the tatami mats. Toshirou blinked and thought wildly, that was going to be so dirty and wet, where was he and his mother going to sleep that night? 

His eyes drew to the lifeless face of the corpse. 

The body was his mother.

The world fell away and time slipped through his grasp. He was vaguely aware of a heated conversation happening over his head and then arms bundling him up and carrying him away. 

Tamegorou brought him to the big house that he claimed Toshirou now lived in. He had servants give him a bath, a change of clothes, and declared to everyone that Toshirou was his little brother. 

Hijikata Yoshito was livid, but Tamegorou was steadfast against his father’s anger. He even gave Toshirou a room all to himself. 

“Do you want to put that away for safekeeping?” Tamegorou asked softly as he spread out the futon and tucked Toshirou in for the night. Those were the first words that pierced the veil of fog that shrouded his senses all day.

When he looked down, he realized for the first time that he was holding his mother’s ribbon.

* * *

Toshirou couldn’t sleep. After that meeting at the clinic, it became a fleeting thing and he found himself more often than not staring up at the ceiling or getting up to watch the sky by the engawa.

His nightmares had warped into hallucinations, stalking him around every corner during the day. His mother’s screams echoed in his ears and shadows danced at the edge of his vision. The cold steel of a sharpened katana followed him everywhere, playing havoc on his senses, forcing Toshirou to look over his shoulders constantly. 

The man—Arai—was staying at the inn across the street from the clinic. He was injured, though not for long. 

Days had passed since their chance encounter and with every sunset and sunrise, the chance of Arai leaving grew greater. 

There was no way he was leaving town alive.

Toshirou sat at what was beginning to become his usual spot at the engawa and brought his hand over his face, exhaling long and slow, pushing all the air out of his lungs. He found himself oddly steady, no parts of him trembling despite the sleep deprivation. 

Out in the courtyard, he was vaguely aware of the snow falling in a quiet curtain of white. Between his fingers, he saw the shape of his mother lying prone on the ground, dyeing the landscape red. 

“Think of the sickle man,” he murmured to himself. 

“The what?”

Toshirou almost jumped out of his skin at the unexpected presence of Gintoki appearing over his shoulder. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” Toshirou snapped. He looked Gintoki up and down, realizing he was only in his pajamas. “We’re still in the middle of winter! You’ve just recovered from being sick; what are you going to do if you undo all that progress? I won’t be the one to look after your sorry ass.”

Gintoki stared, looking mildly disbelieving.

“It’s your medicine that’s giving me fiery shits, so no thank you,” he said.

It wasn’t Toshirou’s fault that the laxative Joi gave him got mixed up with the other meds. He had set them all down on the kitchen table and possibly told Katsura that if Gintoki or Takasugi’s fevers didn’t go down, they could have two pills. He also possibly forgot to specify which pills. The bottles should have been labeled better—he really shouldn’t be blamed.

“It worked, didn’t it? You’re not even coughing anymore.”

“My lungs have third degree burns,” said Gintoki. “Speaking of, so does my asshole. I’m doubting the legitimacy of whatever you brought back as medication. Why didn’t you question the quack when he gave it to you? I certainly am.”

Toshirou chose to ignore the provocation for what it was and rose from his seated position, turning his back on the courtyard. A prickling feeling rose up against his neck, but he ignored it. He was determined not to look. Whatever it was, it wasn’t real and he focused on Gintoki, who was. 

“If you get sick again, you’re just going to have to take more of it.” 

Gintoki made a face like he sucked on a lemon. 

“Stop wandering around in your pajamas,” Toshirou continued. “It’s cold enough as it is.”

“That’s right,” Gintoki agreed slowly, reaching around Toshirou for the ama-do, tugging it shut swiftly to block out the chill and the waking nightmare in the courtyard. “So stop being a hypocrite. Otherwise, you’re going to be the one with fiery shits.” 

“Ugh,” Toshirou said, wrinkling his nose and shoving Gintoki out of the way. “You’re disgusting.”

He stomped off to the kitchen, ignoring the way Gintoki’s eyes glued themselves to his retreating back.

* * *

Sneaking out was simple enough.

He waited until everyone was asleep. Then, he retrieved the old ribbon from its new hiding place beneath the kitchen floorboards—he used to keep it with some of his other belongings in a safe in Sensei’s room, but ever since Gintoki figured out how to break into it, it was almost as if everything was free real estate. 

He grabbed his katana from the training room, tying the old ribbon around the hilt, and pulled a lamp out of storage. He put on his boots, and walked the short path to the front gate. He had just unlatched the lock when he heard the soft crunching of snow behind him.

Toshirou’s head shot up and he came face to face with Shouyou-sensei.

“It’s very late,” Shouyou-sensei remarked. He was smiling lightly.

Toshirou swallowed, his throat going dry and every excuse he thought of dying in his mouth. What was he going to say? The story was so long and convoluted and it still hurt the tenderest part of Toshirou, he couldn’t possibly recount it all. He could lie of course, but Sensei always saw through him when he lied. 

Or perhaps, if he confessed what he was planning on doing, to exact his revenge, Shouyou-sensei wouldn’t approve. But Sensei had always said that they needed to pave their own ways and here Toshirou was, at an uncertain crossroad that he never thought he’d arrive at. The path he was going down didn’t align with the values that Shouyou-sensei had instilled in him.

A dim voice echoed in Toshirou’s head guiltily: do good in the world for there is too much evil already.

The silence between them stretched on. 

“I won’t ask where you’re going or why,” Shouyou-sensei said slowly. “You’re old enough to make your own decisions. I just ask that you come back safe.” 

“I-I will,” Toshirou said and despite the stuttered response, he meant it. He was coming back. 

Sensei’s smile became a shade softer, though it could have been a trick of the shadows. The only source of light was the oil lamp Toshirou was carrying and the darkness seemed to swallow everything else around them. 

After a long pause, Shouyou-sensei said: “I’ll leave the tea for you in the kitchen. And here.” He dug into his pocket and retrieved something, holding it out for Toshirou. 

Not sure what to do, Toshirou held out his hand. 

Something hard and cold was deposited in his palm. It glinted in the low light of the lamp and Toshirou recognized the object as the key to the front gate. 

“Come back safe,” Shouyou-sensei reiterated. He patted Toshirou on the head even though he was merely some centimeters taller and it felt so much like when he was a child—when it was just him, Gintoki, and Shouyou-sensei—that Toshirou had to blink away the moisture in his eyes.

“I will,” he said and this time he felt the conviction down to his bones. 

The snow was starting to cling to him in clumps, soaking through his clothes, but Toshirou pushed all of those sensations away. He left through the front gate with the key in his pocket and his hand on the hilt of his katana. 

The moon was hidden behind heavy clouds, the light too weak to see by, but with the oil lamp and Toshirou’s memory of the road, having already done this once before, he navigated to the town without incident. He hardly registered the noise of the snow giving way to gravel, making a beeline to his destination, keeping to the shadows in case someone spotted him.

There was no one out at this time of night thanks to the weather. The lights inside the houses were dim and most shutters over the windows were closed to conserve heat. Toshirou slinked to a spot near the gaudy electric sign of Doctor Gero’s clinic and turned to face the inn, just two buildings down and across the street.

The Daze Inn wasn’t an incredibly fancy establishment, and though Toshirou didn’t have any experience with things like that, he was fairly certain that it was reasonable and nice. After all, the inn was modernized in the Amanto fashion: it had electricity, the rooms were private, and there was even a bath for paying customers. A far cry from the usual roadhouses that Toshirou had seen.

It burned him, to think that Arai had been well—had lived so guilt free, like he’d never slashed Toshirou’s mother open, like he’d never ripped into her flesh when she was already dead. Like he’d never taunted her death in his face, like he’d never wanted Toshirou to join her too. Like he never imagined there’d ever be a reckoning. 

He opened the door to the Daze Inn lobby; it was small and warm and sitting behind the receptionist desk was the wife of the owner, Mrs. Daze. 

“Welcome!” she chirruped. Mrs. Daze was a little plump and a little pale, but she was always sunny and smiling. She bore a vague resemblance to a colonel that would stand outside a chicken restaurant. “Oh, aren’t you Yoshida-sensei’s student? What are you doing here so late at night?”

“I’m looking for someone,” he said and that wasn’t too far from the truth. “His name is Arai. I believe he’s staying here.” 

Mrs. Daze hummed a bit to herself. “I wasn’t aware you knew him!” 

“Yes,” he lied. “Do you mind letting me know which room he’s staying in? We have a lot to catch up on.” 

Mrs. Daze stared at him for a long moment, eyes wide. Toshirou’s palms were sweaty and cold, a terrible combination, but he tried to remain relaxed when all he wanted to do was barge up the stairs. 

“Please,” he added, praying she’d relent. 

“I can call him down,” she said finally. 

“Great. Tell him I’m waiting outside.”

He left, having no patience to stick around for a response. The door shut firmly behind him.

There was a fire escape around the back of the building and Toshirou squeezed into the dark alleyway next to the inn, dodging around piles of trash that had been left out too long that had frozen to the ground. He scurried up the stairs and tried the door, but it was firmly locked. 

Windows, then. 

Toshirou turned his attention to the feebly-shuttered window that was adjacent to the stairs. Despite all the modernization they’d done on the place, there wasn’t yet any glass installed because Mrs. Daze was worried about preserving the naturalistic feel of the inn. Taking his katana, he shoved it between the bamboo and heaved, the shutters easily folding back to let Toshirou through.

He climbed into the hallway, which was warm and brightly lit. 

There was only one way down to the lobby and if Mrs. Daze was true to her words, all he had to do was wait. 

And wait.

And wait.

A minute passed. Then two, then five. After a near eternity, a noise like a pair of footsteps was coming up the stairs from the lobby. 

Did he somehow miss Arai? Was there another way down that Toshirou didn’t know about? Or did the man somehow slide past him? 

Toshirou gritted his teeth and placed a hand on his katana. It didn’t matter if his revenge was going to be somewhere public—he was going to have it.

The first thing he saw cresting over the stairs was a head of unruly silver hair.

Gintoki came walking up with Mrs. Daze dressed in a cheap-looking janitorial staff outfit. He wore a fake mustache that was by far too bushy and didn’t match his hair at all. He wasn’t a redhead and the mustache was so fiery, it was practically orange. How on earth did he think that was a legitimate disguise?

“—it was an absolutely massive one,” Gintoki was saying. Swinging in his hand was a plunger. “All the janitors were talking about it. The legendary godturd had appeared.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Toshirou snarled. What the hell was a legendary godturd?

Mrs. Daze jumped, startled. “Oh! You’re here! I tried to find you since your friend said it was too late to meet for tonight, but I see he invited you up!” 

Toshirou didn’t see any reason to disabuse her assumption. He continued to glare at Gintoki, who steadily ignored him.

“Let’s take care of the problem,” Gintoki said, a little too jauntily for a guy who was about to clean up what sounded like an absolute literal shitstorm.

Mrs. Daze knocked on a nearby door. “Hello! Sorry for bothering you at such an hour, but the janitor is here to take care of your toilet situation!” 

The door opened, revealing an old man. “The toilet’s fine,” he said, though it seemed to be more of a question than a statement. He blinked owlishly. “What’s going on?”

“The sewer hydra’s appeared. I’m going to have to investigate your bathroom,” said Gintoki, shouldering his way past the old man and making a beeline towards the toilet, changing his story to be even more confusing. “If I don’t contain it, it’ll take seven dangly balls and when it does, it’ll become unstoppable.”

“Oh! That’s terrifying!” Mrs. Daze cried, unbelievably actually believing every word. From downstairs in the lobby came the faint, tinny sound of a telephone. “I’ll leave you to it, Mr. Janitor! Save my inn!” 

She dashed off, taking the stairs two at a time, rushing to get to the phone before the caller hung up.

Toshirou barely registered her leaving. Why the hell was Gintoki here? 

“Sir, you’ve been visited by the sewer hydra,” Gintoki said. “You can see the marks around your bathroom walls. Look here, see the scratches? This means we’ll have to exorcise it or else it’s going to come back and rip off your balls when you’re on the toilet.”

“Excuse me,” Toshirou grabbed the back of Gintoki’s shirt and hauled, dragging him out of the old man’s room and into the hall. He slammed the door shut on the old man who was jabbering, “What about my balls?!”

He threw Gintoki to the wall with a loud bang, angry and confused as to why he was here. 

“Did you follow me?” he asked, an ugly feeling twisting around his chest.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about; I’m your friendly neighborhood janitor man. You can call me Janitor-san.” Gintoki had the gall to thumb at his obviously fake mustache, leaning backwards as if he hadn’t just been flung at the wall with enough force to rattle some of the hanging pictures. 

“Your disguise doesn’t fool anyone,” Toshirou seethed. From his getup, Gintoki was clearly up to something stupid. 

Gintoki frowned, still stroking his mustache. “That’s not very nice. This was the uniform I was given, so take it up with Mrs. Daze. Let her know you think her taste in janitorial uniforms are terrible.”

“Go home,” he snarled. His fingers were digging harshly into his palm and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t get them to unclench. 

“I’ll go home once I’ve finished cleansing the place of the shitty knockoff Moaning Myrtle. She’ll rip your intestines out through your asshole, you know? Not very safe for customers staying the night. But since I’ve clarified why I’m here, why are _you_ here?” Gintoki’s red eyes were sharp and every word that spilled from his mouth dripped with something akin to mockery. 

He stepped forward and jabbed Toshirou harshly in the shoulder. “You’re just a brat wandering around after dark. What are you here to do? Hm? Mrs. Daze mentioned you had a friend earlier, is that who you’re here to see?” 

“It’s none of your business why I’m here,” Toshirou snapped. 

After a long pause, Gintoki sighed. “I see,” he said, even though he didn’t. “I know why you’re here.” He handed Toshirou the plunger, who took it out of reflex. “You’re here to defeat the evil haunting the toilets. Don’t worry, Janitor-san will take care of it for you. You don’t need to be scared.” 

“What the hell—”

“If you’re so insistent, you can be my sidekick. I’ll allow you one hit, but that’s because Exp Share isn’t on, otherwise you could just sit back and—”

Toshirou threw the plunger at Gintoki’s head the same moment a door down the hall slammed open. 

“Why is it so noisy out here?” 

Arai walked out, wrapped in a thick and warm-looking bathrobe. His leg was no longer wrapped in a splint and his gait was even and balanced. He was recovered, then.

It’d be simple for Toshirou to slide his katana out of its scabbard and bury it into the fleshy, weak part of Arai. He could reconstruct every wound the man had made to his mother; strike him down as he did her, unarmed and defenseless. It was what he deserved and yet—

Toshirou was trying to regain his bearings; his limbs felt trapped at his sides as if he wore manacles. Gintoki had thrown him off entirely. 

“What’s going on?” Arai demanded, walking over, his bare feet making hardly a sound on the smooth bamboo floor of the inn. 

Their distance was decreasing. 

“I’m your friendly neighborhood Janitor-san, I’m investigating every room for—”

Toshirou blinked, somehow jarred out of the daze by Gintoki’s blather, and cut in. 

“Do you remember me?” he asked. His voice was low and steady, despite the tremble that ran through his bones, his blood pounding in his ears as his world narrowed. 

Arai was almost an arm’s length away. A cut from this distance could be fatal.

“The guy from the clinic?” Arai’s head tilted slightly in confusion. 

“Back then, you said I was familiar,” Toshirou stated, almost in a rush. Arai still looked lost, though his lips thinned as he pressed them together. “You used to live in Bushu. There was a woman, who lived with a child in the outskirts at the base of the mountain in the east. You killed her.” 

It was as if a memory sparked within and the fog in Arai’s eyes cleared. “Oh,” he said, surveying Toshirou with a critical glance. “The youngest.” 

The man raked a hand over his face, seemingly haggard and old all of a sudden. 

“You’re alive and well. Your brother will be happy,” said Arai. 

“You killed her! Before I return the favor, I want to know why,” Toshirou growled, hand on the hilt of his katana. The old ribbon was bound tightly around it, the fraying strands tied into a knot so it wouldn’t unravel completely. “We were nobodies. We had nothing! Why?”

“Always thought this was going to come back and bite me in the ass,” Arai muttered. “So you’re here for revenge? Think you’re going to kill me? No one’s succeeded yet, so you can put those stupid ideas out of your head. Don’t throw away the life your mom and your brother begged for you.” 

Toshirou bit down on his lip, biting straight through the skin to taste the tang of blood against his tongue. 

He moved to draw his katana. 

In one motion, quicker than Toshirou anticipated, Arai stepped into his space and with one hand, slammed it against the butt of the hilt, forcing the blade back into its scabbard using brute strength. 

His grip on Toshirou’s wrist was crushingly painful as he slammed Toshirou against the wall. 

“I warned you,” Arai hissed. They were nearly eye-to-eye and a white-hot incandescent rage rose inside Toshirou—he had been caught off-guard. “You’re not going to win this. I’ll kill you properly this time.” He raised his free hand, bundling his fingers into a fist, bringing it down towards Toshirou’s skull. 

A plunger stuck itself to the side of Arai’s head, interrupting the blow. 

“Is no one thinking about the janitorial staff? If you fight in here, I’ll be the one that has to clean this up.” 

Gintoki. 

Toshirou forgot that he was even there. 

Arai looked over to Gintoki and back, and then out of nowhere, started to laugh. 

“You have an attack dog?” Arai’s grin was mean and hawkish, more a baring of teeth than anything else. He plucked the plunger from his face and tossed it to the floor. “I was thinking you remind me of your mom, but I was mistaken. You take entirely after your dad.”

“The hell does that mean?” 

Arai shrugged and let go, walking down the hall to his room. “Your resemblance to the old man is uncanny. Now go back home before I really kill you.”

He slammed the door shut and following after, there was the definitive sound of a bolt sliding into place.

“Well,” said Gintoki. He leaned down and picked up the plunger, though his eyes were on Toshirou. He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but then closed his jaw with a sharp click of teeth. 

Toshirou burned. 

Gintoki, Toshirou thought wildly as the wrist Arai had grabbed throbbed painfully. If Gintoki wasn’t here, if he didn’t interfere, if he had stayed home like he was supposed to. 

Arai would have died tonight, he was sure of it. 

“Why did you get in my way?” Toshirou gritted through his teeth. The roaring in his ears was loud and oppressive and he was possessed with the urge to hit something. Nothing was making sense and he felt as if he was afar, watching a stranger’s life as it unraveled before him. 

“You wanted me to let him beat your face in?” Gintoki’s expression was curiously neutral as he said it. “If you wanted a beating that badly, all you needed to do was ask.” 

“I was going to kill him! You had no right to interfere!” 

“Didn’t look like that from my point of view.” 

“Fuck you,” Toshirou snapped. He could visibly see himself trembling now, the hands balled into tight fists next to him shaking in rage. “You follow me here and for what? To clean some toilets? This isn’t any of your concern!” 

“Don’t look down on janitors,” said Gintoki softly. “It wasn’t my intention to stop you from doing anything. And you’re right, this isn’t my business. I don’t have a say in any of this, so I hope you know what you’re doing.” 

Toshirou shouldered past Gintoki, stomping over to Arai’s shut door. He banged on it twice. “I know you’re listening,” he said. “I challenge you. Tomorrow at sunrise, I’ll be back.” 

He didn’t bother saying anything else as he left, leaving Gintoki behind as he took the stairs down to the lobby two at a time. His hand gripped the hilt of his katana, his thumb running over the edge of the old ribbon, feeling at the threads that wouldn’t ever stop coming apart no matter what he did. It felt like more of it had come undone and he wavered, unable to look at the damage. 

He made the journey back home easily enough. The key that Shouyou-sensei gave him allowed him easy access back into the school and he bitterly locked the gate behind him.

Gintoki could figure out his own way back in. 

Instead of going to bed, Toshirou wandered to the dojo. 

It was dark and cold, his breath coming out in a mist with every exhale. He dug around in one of the chests and found some half-used candles, lighting them and casting the dojo with a soft, hazy glow. It wasn’t enough to see clearly by, but that was fine. 

He sat down on the cold, wooden floor, his back against the wall and pulled his legs against his chest, settling in for a long night. 

There, he waited, sleepless, for the dawn to rise. 

* * *

The sun had barely crested the mountains when Toshirou made his way back to town. 

He arrived at the inn and was surprised. 

Not by Arai, who was clearly waiting for him, but by the sight of Gintoki, who had changed back to regular clothes and ditched the ugly mustache. 

Gintoki leaned against the building, nonchalant and disinterested. 

But Toshirou knew better; he saw the way Gintoki’s gaze flickered over to him, saw the tick in Gintoki’s jaw as he held back the torrent of words that he no doubt wanted to say. 

“Last chance to back out,” Arai said. He had his katana at his hip, the one with the golden _tsuba._ In the natural light of day, the craftsmanship of it looked to be a work of art. 

Toshirou traced the edge of the frayed ribbon on his hilt. “Same to you,” he replied. 

Gintoki pushed off from the wall and walked over. His expression was held carefully blank, but Toshirou could see the cracks forming. His red eyes blazed, fierce and sharp. “Someone’s going to die,” he said, placing a heavy hand on Toshirou’s shoulder.

He nodded, unsure where Gintoki was going with this.

“Hey, asshole,” Gintoki called out to Arai without looking away. “I’m not going to stop this fight, but I’m letting you know that if you win, I’ll take your head.” Then, to Toshirou: “Should I get the doctor on site? Have him turn around so he has deniability?” 

“Maybe you should get the mortician instead,” Toshirou responded. 

Gintoki snorted.

“I won’t lose,” he said. “I underestimated him last night. He’s strong. But he can’t kill me. I’ve trained with you and Sensei and you’re both monsters.”

Gintoki’s gaze softened a fraction, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. He leaned in and pressed their foreheads together gently. 

“You’ll win,” he said. “I’ll kick your ass if you don’t.” He gave Toshirou’s shoulder a squeeze and then pulled away. 

During the night, Toshirou had dozed lightly. In between fitful bouts of sleep, he had had a dream. 

He dreamed that Arai cut him down. The thought of it chilled him and yet, he couldn’t say that it troubled him at all. The crushing ball of rage from before had dissipated, replaced with an extraordinary sereneness, giving him a sense of clarity that he suspected he lacked previously.

“I’ll win,” Toshirou echoed. He didn’t come here to die and he wouldn’t.

He drew his katana and watched as Arai did the same. 

There was no signal that started them off. They had both drawn their weapons and Toshirou surged forward to strike. 

Arai was experienced and quick; he matched Toshirou blow for blow, each swing of his katana heavy and brutal. But Toshirou expected that. Arai wasn’t going to catch him unawares again. The nightmarish vision of Arai in the past cutting down his mother in messy cleaves was just that—the product of a nightmare. He had to face Arai as he was. 

It became clear instantly that Arai relied on his instincts and his strength; he didn’t seem to have a solid form and he had ample openings that Toshirou exploited. 

Yet each time he tried, he was rebuked. 

Arai was sharp, a natural athlete with a keen battle sense. 

He was like Gintoki, Toshirou realized. Like himself, in the early days at Shoka Sonjuku, before they had been formally trained. They were wild things then, little and vicious because safety and warmth had been each other. and Shouyou-sensei had worked hard to rehabilitate them, to bring them back to civility. 

But it had been a long time since then and Toshirou trained every day with unmatched idiots. 

Toshirou leveraged every scrap of knowledge, every technique that had been hammered into his brain into this fight. Arai was quick and stronger, but he wasn’t the better swordsman. 

Arai fell back, defending as valiantly as he could against Toshirou’s onslaught. Slowly, surely, Toshirou was going to overwhelm him and the moment that happened, Arai would die. 

Dimly, he was aware of something happening on his periphery—people, he thought, gathering to watch. One of them was loud and causing a ruckus, yelling something, but Toshirou couldn’t hear anything. 

The air was silent for him; the only sound was his katana slicing through the air and crashing against Arai’s own blade. Everything else was lost to the battle. 

Arai took several leaps back, trying to distance himself only to find his back against a literal wall. He could go no further and Toshirou pressed his advantage, managing to strike Arai in the shoulder and leg. 

Arai’s mouth moved as if he was speaking, yet there was no noise of any sort that penetrated through the shroud of silence. Maybe he was saying to wait, maybe he was saying something else—a prayer, a plea. Toshirou didn’t know or care. 

Arai swung, expression hysterical all the while, and Toshirou dodged as best he could, feeling it pierce his side in a flash of icy heat. It was a trade—he endured the cut, but that gave him the time and momentum needed to drag his sword upward in a single, pointed motion that nearly severed Arai’s sword arm. 

For a moment, everything went still. Blood dripped and then poured. The beautiful katana fell to the ground, useless.

It was over. 

Like a vacuum, sound came rushing back. 

“You’ll die now,” Toshirou rasped. His throat was dry and his mouth felt like someone had shoved cotton into it. 

He leveled his blade and swung. 

The first strike was nowhere near anywhere vital and neither was the second one. The third one was aborted when a man lept in front of Arai.

“Please stop,” the man begged, arms opened wide as he protected Arai. “Whatever it is that he’s done to wrong you, I’ll pay you for it. I beg you, please stop.”

Behind him, Arai gurgled something that froze Toshirou in place. A name he hadn’t thought he’d ever hear again.

“Who are you?” Toshirou asked, not trusting what he thought Arai had said. 

“Hijikata Tamegorou,” the man protecting Arai answered without hesitation.

Toshirou staggered back as if he was the one that was hit.

This was his brother. The one that saved him. He could see the resemblance now; Tamegorou was older, the lines of his face more defined, his jowls becoming more prominent. Two horizontal scars ran across his face, nearly missing his eyes—this was new; Toshirou didn’t recall him having any facial scars from before. But despite all these changes, he still recognized Tamegorou. 

Arai mentioned in their very first meeting that he was here on business. He hadn’t been lying, but Toshirou hadn’t dreamed he’d be employed by the Hijikata family, much less his brother.

“Let me take him to a hospital,” Tamegorou pleaded. 

Toshirou took one step back. Then another and another.

“What the hell,” he breathed as his legs gave out and he dropped to the ground onto his knees. “You’d protect him?” 

“I would. He saved my life before,” Tamegorou said. 

Toshirou’s katana rolled to the icy ground as his grip on it slackened. 

Arai saved his brother? How? When?

A hand pressed against his shoulder from behind him, brief and warm.

“Do you want me to tag in?” Gintoki asked.

Mutely, Toshirou shook his head. 

From the sidelines, Joi burst forward with a medical bag, immediately getting to work on the half-dead man lying behind Tamegorou. Doctor Gero came as well, pulling a machine out of a bag and saying nonsensical words to Toshirou’s ears. They must have come from the clinic after hearing the disturbance. 

“He’s bleeding out faster than I can stop it!” 

“Ambulance is on its way!” 

Toshirou shook his head, dumbfounded. 

Then he realized Tamegorou was still staring at him, eyes wary even though he had effectively dropped his weapon. 

Slowly, painfully, Toshirou understood that Tamegorou didn’t recognize him.

It had been ten years, maybe even more. The last time they saw each other, Toshirou had only been waist-high to him. It was no wonder he thought Toshirou a stranger because essentially that was what they were: strangers. 

Toshirou had run away and abandoned his blood relations. He wasn’t part of the Hijikata clan and never had been.

He exhaled.

Then he picked up his katana and slid it back into its sheath. He got to his feet and in spite of how numb his limbs felt, managed to not fall over again. 

“If I ever see him again,” Toshirou uttered, voice pitched low and harsh with all the anger and hatred he could force into his words. “I won’t spare him. Not a second time. Not even for you.” 

He turned away, unable to watch the stranger that was once his brother. He took one step forward and nearly faltered.

“Toshirou! Oi!”

Gintoki appeared at his side, steadying him, wearing an expression that Toshirou had never seen before. It was as if someone had denied him his favorite desserts and simultaneously declared Takasugi had become a monk and reached enlightenment. It was a combination of crestfallen bitterness and sorrow, and Toshirou hated that he was the one that put this look on Gintoki’s face.

“Let’s go home,” he said, unable to stop himself from listing to the side and into Gintoki. He was in pieces, his whole world slanting and bending; if Gintoki wasn’t there, he would have fallen and never gotten back up. 

“Wait!” 

Tamegorou‘s hand shot out, but it hovered at the edge of Toshirou’s bloody sleeve, as if he couldn’t decide whether to stop or continue. 

“Are you...” he hesitated, his voice wavering.

“I’m nobody.” Toshirou was determined not to turn around. There was no happy reunion to be had, nothing to be gained by any sort of revelation. “Gintoki, let’s go.”

Gintoki grunted in assent, not needing to be told twice before hauling him across town at a savage pace. They left Tamegorou and Arai behind quickly, turning down a narrow alley, avoiding spectators and gawkers in general.

“You’re too slow,” Gintoki muttered. He was scanning around for something, head tilting back and forth as they moved. “Get on my back, I’ll carry you.”

The day had already been humiliating enough; Toshirou didn’t need to add being piggybacked to the list. 

“No.”

Gintoki clicked this tongue. “You stubborn ass. You do realize you’re bleeding all over me right now?” 

Toshirou glanced down. Oh, so he was. He forgot Arai managed to cut him. No wonder he was so woozy.

“It’s fine, I’ll just bandage it up,” Toshirou snapped. He tried to push away, but Gintoki held on, his grip like iron manacles.

“We have to get out of here and you’re being an idiot,” Gintoki hissed. “I’m doing this for me, okay? Not for you. I have no desire to be caught with a possible assailant bleeding evidence everywhere. I refuse to be arrested. I’m too young and pretty to survive prison.” 

He stopped in the road abruptly, shoved Toshirou off-balance, and tossed him over his shoulder. There was an explosion of indignation when he finally registered what had happened, but Toshirou was too shocked at being handled like a bag of vegetables to protest. 

Gintoki ran through the ratty back streets and weaved around the least populated areas; the town was waking up and activity was slowly coming to life. Leaving town took longer than expected and Toshirou had somehow closed his eyes during it all. 

Maybe it was the blood loss or possibly he was wrung out, but when he came to, Gintoki had dropped him unceremoniously into a pile of snow next to the river. 

“That hurt,” he groused, nudging a sharp piece of rock out from under him. 

“You’re an asshole,” said Gintoki with no explanation. Toshirou brought a hand up to his face, but Gintoki swatted it away when he kneeled down so Toshirou couldn’t hide. “No. Asshole, look at me.”

He stared at the top of Gintoki’s head. “I’m looking,” he muttered slowly.

“I had to hear from a very handsome janitor that you sneaked out last night and almost got yourself beat up. And then you went and challenged the guy. Do you have some sort of death wish? What the hell? I’m only working with pieces of the whole picture here, you asshole. What’s going on? And stop squirming, I’m trying to see how deep the cut is.”

“It’s not that bad,” Toshirou said, struggling to sit up, but Gintoki shoved him back down with ease. 

“Obviously, since you’re still mouthy. Move your hand.” 

Toshirou flopped his arm out of Gintoki’s way as he peeled off the layers of clothes. They were wet and sticky and tugged painfully to his skin. He must have made a noise because Gintoki’s eyes briefly flicked to his before going back to assessing the cut. 

“The only reason he didn’t slice you through is because he hit your rib,” said Gintoki. “But I guess you did worse to him today. I don’t think he’ll survive.” 

“Good,” Toshirou sighed. 

“What the hell were you thinking,” snapped Gintoki. “I can’t even take you to a hospital because you were going to butcher a man in broad daylight. Ok, I’m going to need you to sit up, think you can do it?” 

He wanted to, not just five minutes ago, but Gintoki had manhandled him down. He tried to say as much, but words were difficult to form in his mouth and every part of him felt sluggish and numb. It was a fight to nod his head, even minutely.

“Ok,” said Gintoki with an explosive breath. “Ok! Ok.” 

Gintoki hauled him into a sitting position and despite the snow and the frosty temperature, his injured side felt hot, leaving a throbbing, bruised impression—and it didn’t help that Gintoki was desperately trying to wrap the wound with a ruined sleeve that he ripped off his jacket.

“Ow,” Toshirou said. He thought he might have tried to push Gintoki away, but he wasn’t sure. When he sat up, the world began to spin. “Stop it.”

“Stop what? Tell me.”

“That. It hurts,” said Toshirou. Whatever Gintoki was doing, it was painful, adding to that pulsing hot feeling against his ribs. 

Gintoki muttered something and then snarled, “Good! I hope it does!” He yanked at Toshirou’s arm and threw his ruined jacket over Toshirou’s shoulders. “Don’t bite your tongue. I’m going to carry you again.” 

He didn’t want to move. In fact, he didn’t think he could. 

He tried to convey that, but Gintoki slapped him lightly on the cheek. 

“Asshole! Stay with me!” 

“Where the hell would I go?” Toshirou mumbled, his tongue unable to clearly separate each syllable. He was too tired; the long week was sneaking up on him at the most inopportune time. All the exhaustion hit him like a freight train, pulling at his eyelids and his limbs concurrently, a floating, lethargic thing.

His eyes fell to the ribbon on his katana, finally frayed and worn beyond all repair. It was dyed dark with drying blood and he couldn’t even recall what color it originally was. The threads had all come apart.

Gintoki said something—possibly shouted—but there was a soft hum vibrating in his ear. It was from a voice that he hadn’t heard in a long time, one that he was convinced he had forgotten, and yet memories flooded into his mind as if a dam had been broken.

He turned his head and saw a new hallucination of his mother. 

She wasn’t twisted and bleeding, no expression of horror upon her face. She was whole and herself and _this_ was how she looked like; this was how Toshirou should have remembered her, but he could only ever see her nightmarish death. 

She was so young, he realized. Probably a few years older than he was now. 

“Mother?” he whispered.

Suddenly he was a child again, dressed in a ratty yukata that had seen better days, looking up at the one person he loved most in the world. His heart ached; he wanted to reach out to her, to bury himself in her embrace, wanted her to sing to him and talk to him and love him. Once upon a time, she was his world and he was certain he was hers. 

He wanted to look at her more, to commit her face to memory, but his eyes were so tired. 

He thought she might have said something, her mouth moving minutely, but he couldn’t hear any words. His eyelids closed as the hum in his ears increased, transforming from the memory of a safe haven into an incessant, inhuman buzzing that drowned out the world. 

He was worn out and weary and he couldn’t stay awake. Fighting against the exhaustion was too hard; he was just one man trying to barricade the oncoming tide. 

* * *

Toshirou came back to consciousness in slow, stumbling phases. His entire body ached, but especially his side; a bright, hot pulse of pain radiated outward, obscuring nearly every other sense. Trying to move a limb or open his eyes was an impossibility. 

He was dimly aware that he wasn’t alone; he heard muffled conversations and shuffling footsteps on occasion. Briefly, he felt something ice cold touch his hand and gentle fingers brush against his hair before losing consciousness again. 

Repeatedly he would come close to waking, but every time, a deep, endless nothing blanketed him, forcing him back to oblivion. 

Finally, with the creeping pace of a snail, he struggled to consciousness. 

When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was a rabbit. 

“Oh dear, Usapi Dekora, don’t climb all over him,” Katsura scolded, picking the rabbit up and paying no attention whatsoever to Toshirou. “You might get infected with Mayo Brain.” 

“How dare you,” Toshirou croaked, affronted. 

“When did you learn how to speak?” Katsura genuinely looked confused as he held up the rabbit, whose ears simply twitched. “I always knew you were clever.” 

Did he die and go to hell, Toshirou wondered. 

There was a clatter from beyond the room and within moments, Shouyou-sensei’s face came into view. 

“You’re finally awake,” he said. Shouyou-sensei smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His hair was tied back, an odd look for him—Toshirou rarely saw him with his hair up; the only other time he could recall was when he was young and Shouyou-sensei had to wrestle both him and Gintoki into the baths. 

He sat down in the space next to Toshirou and it was just now that Toshirou recognized that he was laid out in the main room next to the irori. A medicinal smell lingered in the air, mixing with the sharp scent of burning wood. A small slanted opening at a window let in a weak stream of sunlight, indicating it was sometime during the day. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Terrible, he wanted to answer, but held it back. It seemed like the wrong thing to say. 

He wanted to apologize, but he didn’t know where to start. Shouyou-sensei had taken him in, raised him, and asked for nothing in return. The least Toshirou could do was make him proud, but how could Sensei be proud of a known murderer?

As if sensing his dilemma, Shouyou-sensei rapped his knuckles on Toshirou’s forehead in reprimand. 

“Did you do what you set out to do?” he asked. Shouyou-sensei’s smile seemed a bit more genuine now, as he anticipated the answer. 

The question knocked loose the last bastion of his heart, catapulting all the emotions he tried to keep inside hurtling to his throat in a desperate means of escape. 

“No,” he said, and because it was in part the truth: “but the matter is done.” 

He had no intention of crossing paths with Arai or Tamegorou again. They were strangers, and their worlds had no reason to intersect, not anymore.

“Will I be punished?” 

“Do you need to be?”

Toshirou looked away. “I didn’t follow your teachings,” he said, the words coming out stilted and strangled. “I acted foolishly out of anger and I didn’t set out to do good.” 

Shouyou-sensei took in his words and sighed. “I can’t make decisions for you, Toshirou. You’re old enough to weigh your choices and choose what to do. I can merely give you advice and perhaps point you in a better direction should you get lost.” He rapped Toshirou’s forehead again, lightly. “Besides, it looks like you’re suffering already. I think your experience is punishment enough.”

Toshirou’s eyes burned so he shut them, stemming the onslaught of tears. He couldn’t cry—not here, not now. He refused to give in.

“Since you’re awake, I’ll go get you some water. You’re probably thirsty,” Shouyou-sensei said after a beat. He patted at the blanket that covered Toshirou’s arm. “Some tea would probably be nice.” There was the soft rustling of clothes as he got up and left, leaving Toshirou with Katsura and the rabbit. 

At first, there was a suffocating silence, only interrupted in brief by the crackling of the fire. Toshirou could feel that Katsura had something to say, but was holding back.

“What,” Toshirou barked when he couldn’t stand it anymore, and if his voice sounded wobbly and uneven, Katsura didn’t call him out on it.

“When you get the chance, thank Gintoki. He lugged you all the way back here on his own. And also,” he paused and there was the sound of rustling clothes as Katsura shifted, “if you ever need help, regardless of what it is, I hope you’ll confide in us. Even if you see yourself as a lone wolf, remember that every one of them came from a pack.”

Toshirou stifled a groan at the analogy. 

“I’m not a dog,” he muttered as scathingly as he could muster. He wanted this conversation to end.

“Wolves aren’t dogs,” said Katsura, missing the point. “But alright. If you think of yourself as the black sheep, then even that sheep has a flock—”

“I get it,” Toshirou interrupted. “Rely on you. Let you know what’s going on. I’ve heard this before.”

“Of course,” Katsura demurred. “However, I don’t think you actually understand what’s being said, but that’s alright. As long as you hear our words, it doesn’t matter how long it takes to comprehend the meaning. We were all worried about you.”

Toshirou didn’t know how to respond. His world was already off-kilter and now, it was spinning entirely off its axis. He was unmoored and he didn’t know how to anchor himself again.

“I see,” he said, but didn’t. 

Katsura sighed and stood up, making little noise as he did so. “I’ll go find the other idiot,” he muttered and shuffled out, taking the rabbit with him.

Everyone must have been gone for a bit, since the next moment he heard the sliding door open, he was blinking himself back to wakefulness. He had inevitably dozed off.

This time, Gintoki stepped through the door. 

He had with him a tray of hot tea and a bowl of thin porridge. 

Gintoki looked dead on his feet; the usual robust color of his skin was pale and the shadows underneath his eyes made his face seem sunken into itself. 

“You look like shit,” Gintoki commented without glancing over at Toshirou.

Toshirou grunted. “As if you’re looking that much better. When was the last time you slept?”

Gintoki took a seat on the floor right next to him and jabbed him hard in the shoulder. “You’re an asshole and an idiot,” he growled. “Who did you think dragged you all the way back here? You should be groveling to me and Sensei. We saved your hide, and now I’m being forced to bring you food and water? This should be the other way around.”

Toshirou resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Instead, he pushed up against his elbows so he could get into a sitting position. His side burned, the pain searing down every nerve, but he clenched his jaw and said nothing.

“Screw you, don’t reopen your wound,” Gintoki snapped, but despite his tone, he helped Toshirou lean back against the wall so he could be upright. He then handed Toshirou the cup of tea, though his hands hovered as if Toshirou was going to drop it any moment. 

“I’m injured, not an invalid,” Toshirou said, annoyed. He swatted away Gintoki’s hands and took a long drink from the cup. His throat was parched; he hadn’t realized how thirsty he was. Dimly, he recalled Shouyou-sensei’s words before he left during the night—there was tea left for him in the kitchen for his return. 

“You could have fooled me.” 

Toshirou placed the empty cup back in the tray and Gintoki wordlessly refilled it before picking up the bowl of porridge. 

“No. You are not feeding me,” Toshirou protested, but at Gintoki’s withering glare, he thought better of arguing anything further.

Gintoki was surprisingly gentle with feeding him; he had half-expected Gintoki to be jabbing the spoon into his mouth, but he was met with patience and care. His irritation ebbed away and the guilt settled heavily over his shoulders and burrowed into his gut.

He couldn’t meet Gintoki’s eyes. Not when he could remember the distant pleading and yelling Gintoki did, trying to keep him awake, trying to keep him grounded in those last several moments of consciousness.

“Shut up,” said Gintoki even though Toshirou hadn’t said a word. “I can hear you thinking and it’s noisy, so shut up.”

He finished the bowl of porridge with difficulty, his stomach deciding that it’d rather be filled with guilt than with food halfway through. 

Gintoki put the bowl back on the tray when he was done and drew in a sharp-sounding breath.

Toshirou looked at the fist Gintoki was making and said: “I’ll listen to any thoughts or complaints you have.” 

That seemed to open a floodgate for Gintoki. He slammed his fist onto the wooden floor, expression darkening. “How generous of you,” he snapped. “Do you know how much I want to punch you right now? On a scale of one to ten, you’re at a thousand. You should thank me for my self-restraint. What the hell did you think you were doing? I know you don’t have any sort of death wish and you’re smarter than whatever the hell happened, but you couldn’t have just opened your mouth and asked for help? I’m right here! Was your pride more important than your life?”

Gintoki inhaled and then exhaled, bringing up a hand to cup Toshirou’s cheek, forcing their gazes to meet. 

“You’re such a selfish asshole,” said Gintoki and this time, Toshirou saw the unshed tears of relief shining in Gintoki’s red eyes.

Toshirou drew in a small breath, rounding up his courage. “You supported me anyway.” 

“Why didn’t I stop you?” 

“You couldn’t have,” Toshirou responded truthfully. 

Gintoki’s face crumpled at that, even though he must have known the answer already. He lowered his head into Toshirou’s lap, curling up there against Toshirou’s side. He was a heavy weight, but Toshirou bore it, just like how Gintoki did with his life. 

“You’re not responsible for my actions,” said Toshirou. From this angle, he couldn’t see Gintoki’s expression anymore, but he didn’t need to. He thought maybe that they both felt something similar. “Whatever happened to me, it wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself.” 

“Screw you,” muttered Gintoki.

Toshirou tried not to laugh, but was unable to suppress it. His side twinged from the effort and he grimaced at the pain.

Hesitantly, he placed a hand on Gintoki’s head, carding his fingers through the short white strands with tenderness. On the worst days of summer, when it was hot and humid, his hair would frizz up into an unmanageable mess. Now, it could be considered one step away from untidy. 

He let the silence lapse between them, all the while running his hand through Gintoki’s hair, lightly pressing against his scalp. Gintoki did nothing to shrug Toshirou off or even complain so he took it as a sign to continue. 

In slow, gradual beats, he watched the tension seep from Gintoki’s shoulders and his breathing even out. 

Knowing Gintoki, he probably hadn’t gotten a wink of rest since Toshirou got injured. A strange, frizzy feeling tickled his toes and worked its way up to his sternum, where it made a space like a prickly cat. 

“Thank you,” he whispered to the top of Gintoki’s head. “I’m sorry.” 

* * *

When he next woke, it was to the quiet presence of Takasugi slipping into the room. 

“So you’re still alive,” Takasugi said, sounding mildly surprised. He glanced at the slumbering Gintoki, who had sprawled himself all over Toshirou’s lap in his sleep, and shook his head.

“Is everyone here going to tell me I’m an idiot?” Toshirou muttered, glaring at him hard, but Takasugi only snorted.

“How was the other guy?”

“Worse off than I am now.” 

Takasugi clicked his tongue like a disapproving housewife. “No wonder the pigs came sniffing around,” he said, crouching over the irori and tossing a piece of log into it. The fire crackled and sparked mutinously for a moment, then died down to its former simmer. “Don’t worry, they’re not coming back. As far as I’m aware, no one left the school and whatever fight happened was between two strangers. It was none of Shoka Sonjuku’s business.” 

Biting the inside of his cheek, Toshirou asked with as much of a neutral tone he could manage, “What do you mean?” 

Did Arai survive and send the authorities after him? Or, a thought sent a numb coldness through his spine, was it Tamegorou? 

“Nothing,” Takasugi said with a wave of a hand, dismissing the topic. “This asshole here, though, is he bothering you?” 

Toshirou spared Gintoki a look. He couldn’t tell if Gintoki was awake or not; he hadn’t moved much and his breathing still seemed even enough. But he wouldn’t put it past Gintoki to be faking just to eavesdrop. 

He should ask Takasugi to take Gintoki back to his room rather than let him curl up here. But the room was warm and he wasn’t particularly in a hurry to be separated from Gintoki. “Let him sleep, it’s fine,” replied Toshirou.

Takasugi huffed what sounded like a small breath of laughter. “You’re both so stupid,” he said and before Toshirou could refute that, he moved on. “What are you going to do now?” 

The question caught him off-guard and for a moment, Toshirou didn’t know what to say. Takasugi waited expectantly, the light from the fire casting strange shadows on his face from across the room. He looked almost sinister. 

“My original plan was to leave after New Year’s,” Toshirou said slowly. It felt like it had been months since he last contemplated this and he remembered distinctly a petulant Gintoki and shoveling snow off the roof. “I’d go and find work somewhere, maybe back in my hometown.” 

“A valid plan,” Takasugi commented. Then, after a beat: “Come with me to Edo.” 

Toshirou stared. He must have heard wrong. 

“Just think about it,” Takasugi continued blithely. “You don’t need to answer me now. Get some rest and focus on healing.” 

An uneasiness crept over him at that; he couldn’t fathom what Takasugi was planning.

“Sure,” he said simply because he didn’t know what to say. “On second thought, can you take Gintoki? My legs are asleep because of him.” 

Takasugi stood and nudged Gintoki in the side with a foot. Gintoki didn’t stir a hair. 

“No problem,” said Takasugi as he grabbed the back of Gintoki’s collar, yanking him up and right out of sleep. Gintoki spluttered and yelped in protest at being manhandled. “I’ll toss him into the garbage disposal for you.” 

“Thanks,” Toushirou replied. “I appreciate it.” 

* * *

New Year’s came and went, this one more subdued than the last. Toshirou had been confined to bed rest, which he thought was entirely unfair over a simple scratch. 

“Are you an asshole, a jackass, or just really stupid?” was what Gintoki said to him when Toshirou had tried to go to the dojo with the rest of them in the morning. He was then forcefully bound and wrapped up into his blankets like sushi and left in his room until someone returned to unwrap him. 

When finally Shouyou-sensei had deemed him healthy and unlikely to reopen his wound, Toshirou had nearly wept with joy. 

Winter cold continued to reign, the snow falling and piling on day after day, but after Arai and Tamegorou, Toshirou couldn’t put it off any longer. He told Shouyou-sensei of his plans to go visit his mother. 

Shouyou-sensei nodded in understanding. “It’s good that you still feel so strongly towards her,” he said with a smile. “So you have to promise to come back in one piece. For her sake.” 

Toshirou bowed his head. “Of course,” he said. 

Everyone had treated his botched revenge plan with a strange sort of sensitivity; no one asked about the details and whether that was because Shouyou-sensei had told them all off, he didn’t know. Nevertheless, Toshirou was glad to have his space. 

He was given the same sort of space now, when he packed his bags. There was a small supply of food and water in his pack and the rest of his savings were tucked into his wallet for his trip. He didn’t plan to be gone long, but his belongings had been meager to begin with so within the day, his preparations were done.

When the first rays of light peeked out from beyond the clouds, Toshirou left without saying goodbye. Everyone understood, he was sure, and none of them were for farewells. 

Yet, it hadn’t been half an hour since he left when he heard the rapid crunching of snow and ice chasing after him. Toshirou stopped and waited at a bend on the road, curious as to who it was. 

“Why didn’t you at least stay for breakfast,” whined Gintoki without preamble when he caught up. He was dressed in heavy coats and on his back was a large rucksack. In his hands, wrapped up neatly in some napkins, were two large manjuus. “Here, this one’s yours.” 

Gintoki shoved one into Toshirou’s hands as he bit into the other one with gusto. 

“What are you doing?” Toshirou asked suspiciously, eating his manjuu with less fervor than Gintoki. He was surprised that it was still warm. The red bean filling filled his mouth with a sweet flavor and it was almost overpowering; this was, without a doubt, something Gintoki made himself. No one else poured so much sugar into their food. 

“Making sure you take care of yourself, which you’re already failing at,” replied Gintoki around a mouthful of food. “I had to bring you breakfast all the way out here! If I didn’t do this, who knows when you’ll eat next. Even an idiot knows to feed themselves, so you’re worse than an idiot. Besides, you might not remember this, but I made a promise and I’m fulfilling it now.”

“What—”

“Shhh, don’t talk with your mouth full,” said Gintoki. He took another large bite of his manjuu and continued speaking. “It’s bad manners.” 

“Screw you,” muttered Toshirou, stomping ahead. 

To his surprise, Gintoki followed.

* * *

Reaching Bushu wasn’t easy; the place itself was nestled between mountains and in good weather, the route was difficult to traverse. In winter and under snow, the waysigns were hidden and the roads all but lost. They stopped overnight in small villages and townships, each one more remote than the last. 

“Why the hell is it so hard to get there,” Toshirou heard Gintoki muttering as he looked over the map, planning out their travels for tomorrow. He had a small oil lamp next to him and even in the dim lighting, Toshirou could see the minute shivers in Gintoki’s hands. 

It was bitterly arctic, but the burning force inside him, urging him back to Bushu, didn’t let him regret his choice. 

“Did you hate it?” asked Gintoki. 

Toshirou shrugged, but he was bundled underneath a thick woolen blanket and he wasn’t sure it translated. “I don’t hate the place,” he said instead. “It’s... complicated.” 

Gintoki looked up to the ceiling of the room they were staying in—they were sharing a house with a friendly farmer and his family. The old wood creaked when the wind blew, shutters rattling about, but holding firm. Toshirou didn’t need to ask to know what Gintoki was thinking. 

They had wandered together for what felt like years, back before Shouyou-sensei found them. They had no goal beyond surviving to the next day. Many nights were spent in rotted, abandoned homes in deserted villages and they had huddled together for warmth when it was cold. 

“But you left,” said Gintoki. He wasn’t looking at the map anymore, his eyes staring somewhere far away. “It wasn’t just because of your mom, was it?”

Toshirou lifted a hand to cover his face and exhaled slowly. “No,” he said, the word coming out softer and quieter than he intended. Even to his own ears, he sounded tired. He withdrew his hand back under the blanket. “I guess I never told you the whole story.” 

Gintoki shook his head and reached over the tiny space that separated the two of them and patted Toshirou on the shoulder. “When you’re ready,” he said. 

That was surprising enough for a burst of laughter to escape Toshirou’s lips. “When did you become so considerate?”

“I’ve always been considerate,” retorted Gintoki, but there was no heat behind his statement, just a wry sense of humor. 

Toshirou thought that might be half-true; once, in a fit of rage, Gintoki had tossed out all of Toshirou’s mayonnaise. In retaliation, Toshirou gave away all of Gintoki’s hidden stash of candies to the younger students. Neither of them could be called considerate in any sort of manner. 

“Asshole,” Toshirou muttered, but his chest felt tight, as if someone was trying to squeeze the air out of his lungs. The scar at his side gave a twinge and he resisted the urge to cradle it. “You really want to know?” 

Eventually, after what seemed to be an age, Gintoki met his gaze and nodded. 

* * *

Bushu had changed from what Toshirou remembered, but his childhood memories were fuzzy enough now that most things were a haze. A corner here, a street there; it filled him with a sense of déja vu, tickling his mind that he’d been to these places before, but couldn’t quite remember the whens or the whys. The long, empty road that used to lead to the biggest estate in the town now had houses nestled along it and from the looks of it, there was no longer just one big estate. There were multiple mansions and different families living as neighbors to the Hijikata clan. 

Bushu had expanded; it was no longer a small country town.

Gintoki followed behind him as he navigated through the streets, asking the occasional question. Sometimes, Toshirou didn’t have an answer.

They passed by new neighborhoods, shops, and even a particularly lively dojo where the students were practicing despite the cold. 

Gintoki chuckled when they walked past, unable to help from peeking in. 

“There’s even a kid in there,” he said. 

“Not too long ago, that was us.” 

Gintoki let out a put-upon sigh. “Sensei’s training regiment was ruthless.” 

That was one way of putting it, Toshirou thought with a snort. “Come on, over here.” 

Finally, he spotted it: an old path leading into the hills, where he used to live. Dead grass and bramble littered the route, but it was still visible even with the snow layered on top. Someone must have come this way before; not frequently, however, there were no freshly-disturbed snow or footprints, but there was a divot in the ground from being trodden on often. 

“My mom and I were poor,” he said. “We couldn’t afford to live in town. All we got was a stipend from my father, when he bothered to send it.” 

He led the way onto the path, pushing aside low-hanging branches. 

Their breath misted in the air and a brief glance at Gintoki revealed that his nose was red, as was the tip of his ears. There was frost caught Gintoki’s hair and lashes, twinkling in the light, but otherwise camouflaged. 

“Did you want to rest?” 

Gintoki shook his head, some of the settled snow flinging to the side. “We’re almost there, aren’t we? Besides, I want to meet her.”

Toshirou wondered what his mother would have thought about Gintoki, if she had been alive to meet him. Would she like him? Approve of him as a friend? 

When he reached a split in the path, he veered to the left fork. This trail was more unkempt than the right and he soon realized why.

The clearing that once held the hut he and his mother lived in was now empty. The building was gone, probably torn down years ago. Snow piled high over the earth. Nothing had been here in a long time. 

“We used to live here,” Toshirou said as he came to a stop where the front door used to be. He could almost imagine running through the doorway into the single, cramped room. “I think it was a shed, but got converted to a home for us.” 

From his pocket, he pulled out his mother’s old ribbon, though it could hardly be called a ribbon at all now. It was a bundle of thread, having at last unraveled, held together by a knot he tied at the base. He couldn’t even tell what color it was anymore; it simply looked silver and grey to him.

He chuckled to himself. 

There was nothing for him here, no building or grave or any sign of his mother. But the memories persisted, lingering at the forefront of his mind, conjuring the image of the place he used to live. 

He walked steadily over the threshold, the burning urgency in him simmering down to tiny embers. It was time to lay old regrets to rest.

“Mom,” he said, his voice strong and unwavering, “there’s someone I want you to meet.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huuuge thanks to my beta and cheer leader citsiurtlanu! She knows nothing about Gintama and now she knows that Gintama merchandise likes to stick things up [Gintoki's ass](https://www.reddit.com/r/Gintama/comments/9yd1ul/now_you_can_store_your_fork_inside_gintokis_hole/). 
> 
> And also thank you to all the readers that are still here! I love you guys. <3


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